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PROMENADE. 



♦PROMENAPE* :.:•:- 
FROM DIEPPE TO THE 

MOUNTAINS OF SCOTLAND. 
BY CHARLES NODIER. 

A. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE FEEKCH. 



if': 



WILLIAM BLACKWOOD, EDINBURGH ; 

AND T. CADELL, LONDON. 

M.DCCC.XXIL 



^u- 



f.^^ 

^"^ 



\ / r 



A' 



PREFACE. 



If the reader expects to find a 
book of travels in this work, I beg 
he wiU throw it aside : It is nothing 
but the podcet-book of a man who 
passed rapidly through a country 
quite new to him, and who writes 
his sentiments rather tiian his cb- 
servations. 

There is no country more deserv- 
ing of the attention of a traveller 
than the mountains of the west imd 



735980 



VI PREFACE. 

north of Scotland. They have in- 
spired, however, so little curiosity 
in French travellers, that Chantreau 
disdained to make any progress 
through them, and the learned Fau- 
jas de Saint- Fond, wha thought only 
of geology, sought and saw nothing 
in them but stones* Knox, whose 
studies, entirely relative to political 
economy, were confined to the fishe- 
ries, speaks of nothing but fishes. 
Gilpin is a landscape painter more 
than a traveller. Abstracting from 
the prejudices of a morose old man, 
whose imagination had long lost all 
its colouring, there are many useful 
and interesting things in Johnson's 
Tour, as in all bis works. Pennant 
alone has raised a monument perfect 
in all its parts ; but I suspect these 
two last authors have not had the 



PREFACE. Vll 

honour of a complete translation in- 
to French. 

There is still room, therefore, for 
an excellent book on Scotland, un- 
less it has appeared y^ithout my 
knowledge; but, independently of 
the qualities necessary for making 
an excellent book, one must have 
seen again and again the country 
one proposes to describe before one 
can flatter oneself with 'being able to 
give a just idea of it to others. This 
little volume only promises what it 
can give — ^the hasty sketch of a rapid 
promenade. May it even give what 
it promises ! 

However, as my journal is be- 
come a sort of work, and is now 
surrendered to the opinion of the 
public, for which it was not com- 
posed, I must shelter myself from 
It 



VUl PfiCFACE. 

the risk of a reproach— which would 
give me more pain than any cri- 
tical attacks — ^that of ingratitude 
towiM'ds individuals from whom we 
received signal marks of politeness 
and benevolence, all of whom I 
^ould delight to mention, if the 
multiplicity of attentions and servi- 
ces did not render the task too diffi- 
cult. I shaH only name among our 
own countrymen, Count Caraman, 
French Charge d' Affaires in Lon- 
don ; Mr. Hugot, Consul in Edin- 
burgh J Mr. Herman, Commercial 
Agent at Glasgow ; and on the other 
hand, Lord Fife in London, Oenera) 
Duff in Scotland, and our invaluable 
friend, Mr. Hulmandell, whose soli- 
citude for our wants and pleasures 
surpasses all expression. I will add, 
in my own name, to this list, the 



PREFACE. IX 

name of the celebrated Dn Hooker, 
who directed my excursions in the 
county of Lennox and its environs, 
and who loaded me, on my depar- 
ture, with a rich harvest of rare plants 
for our common friend Bory de Saint- 
Vincent. The latter, in his turn, 
helped me to unravel many notions 
that were almost efl&ced from my 
memory, by displaying that facility 
of observation, and that clearness of 
analysis, which give him such a dis- 
tinguished rank among our very first 
naturalists. 

It would remain for me to give my 
best thanks to my travelling Compa- 
nions, for the great assistance they 
have given me, in rendering this 
trifling performance at all worthy 
of the public, if I could express all 
that I owe to them without oflend- 



X PREFACE. 

ing their modesty. Fortunately, I 
am well enough acquainted with 
their sentiments, to know that they 
will be more obliged to me for a 
simple expression of friendship than 
for tiie most pompous eulogiums. 



CONTENTS. 



P«gc 

I. To my Wife, * . 1 

II. Paanige firtan Dieppe to firighton, . 8 

III. Bn^tm Road, ........ 13 

IV. Brighton, 16 

V. London, 20 

VI. Public Buildings, 24 

VII. The Docks.— Greenwich, .... 33 

VIII. The Theatres, 37 

IX. TheMosemns, 46 

X. Richmond, i3 

XI. Oxford, 57 

XII. From London to Edinburgh, ... 69 

XIII. Edinburgh, , 76 

XIV. Holyrood, 83 



Xii CONTENTS. 

XV. From Edinburgh to Glasgow^ . . 92 

XVI. Glasgow, . 97 

XVII. The Cathedral, ...... 104 

XVIII. The Boxers, 108 

XIX. Caledonia, . 110 

XX. Loch Lomond, 116 

XXLLuss, 122 

XXILTarbet, 1«6 

XXIII. Natural Productions, . • ' . . 131 

XXIV. Ben Lomond, 144 

XXV. From Ben Lomond to Loch 

Kathrine, 1^3 

XXVL Loch Kathrine, ...... 157 

XXVn. The Gipsies, 171 

XXVIII. Loch Long, 176 

XXIX. Ayr, 188 

XXX. Gretna Green, 193 

XXXI. From Cumberland to London, . 197 

XXXII. Canterbury, . 300 

XXXIIL France, . . * 208 



PROMEN:44>l)i . 



DIEPPE 

TO TBI 

MOUNTAINS OF SCOTLAND. 



CHAPTER I. 

TO MY WIFE. 

I CAiTKOT accustom myself to the idea of 
being separated from you, of living and 
thinking without you. Each new object 
that presents itself to my yiew^ seems a 
theft from you; and when I think that 
every thing I am going to see will be new 
to me, that there will be no longer a com- 
mon sensation between the multiplied sen- 
sations of my days and those which fill 
your recollections, I look upon this jour- 



TO MY WIFE. 



^ney with.^^rtpf terror, as the essay of 
'Eternal *«epairiiid[M. For twelve years past, 
:ful49ciiEtfed:wUth''i^ the vicissitudes of my 
life, you have followed me in the rigorous 
pilgrimages of exile, and in the more agree- 
able excursions which I have undertaken 
from my love ot science and of the arts. 
You have visited with me the smiling re- 
gions of the south of France ; the austere 
monuments of Normandy and Brittany ; 
the majestic antiquities of Italy ; the ruins 
of Magna Grsecia, the useless patrimony of 
barbarians. I told you the names of all 
the fdace^ which recalled grand ideas, or 
attested ancient ^oncs. I taught our 
dear little ^1 to lisp their sdemn names 
in a kngimge different from that of her 
nurse, and which struck har ear for the 
first time. Now, I am akme: for though 
firiendsbip is a sweet auxiliary of happi- 
ness, it sliU kaves very eo^ty a heart that 
is^ separated from whi^ is most dear to it 
in die world. I am alone ; and the im- 



TO MY WIFB. 3 

pressions which had so many charms when 
you partook them with me, now find me 
inattentive, and almost indifferent. The 
names of places and of men only interest 
me for a moment, like unknown words 
the meaning of which is not worth seek-^ 
ing. Though I arrived yesterday rather 
early at Dieppe, it was only this morning 
that I went on the sea-shore, and I scarce- 
ly cast my eyes over the magnificent scene 
which it h^e displays. My daughter has 
never looked for shells on this shorie. If 
we thought of all this before we set out, 
we should never go ; but what man is al- 
ways happy with the happiness he has ? 

However, I have hit upon a scheme 
which delights my imagination: it is to 
speak to you every moment as if you were 
present, and neither to see nor to feel any 
thing without transmitting it to you imme- 
diately in idea. << See, Mary, how nice 
it would be for you to play with your lit- 
tle companions under those green arbours 



4? . TO MY WIFE. 

of Pavilly. And you, my dear, cast your 
eyes on this view of Dieppe, and of the 
sea, from the top of the hill of Bourdun, 
which is considered to be one of the finest 
sights in nature ; or amuse yourself with 
the marvellous narrations of our driver, 
who, though he is going on full speed, 
relates with his hoarse accent the last ex- 
ploits of the privateer Bolidar.'' In this 
way you will travel with me even to the 
distant shores towards which I am impell- 
ed by the mania of seeing other countries, 
and studying other manners. What re- 
gions, so varied in their aspect and charac- 
ter, shall we not - go over together ! Ne- 
vertheless, we will not stop toidwell on the 
details. We go quick, because other 
cares call us back, and because our hearth 
is keeping for us treasures of tenderness 
and happiness that are not here. Alas ! 
may I find them ^gaifi ! Moreover, we 
have not the preten^on to instruct. Our 
•ambition is limited to the enjoyment of 



TO MY WIFE. 



what is beautiful, and the exertion of our 
understanding to conversing about it. If 
the journal which I trace as I run can 
have any merit, it can only be that of re* 
presenting, with nciivetij free and natural 
impressions. Almost a stranger to the 
language, the history^ and the manners of 
the countries I am going to visit, I am 
certain to speak of things less according to 
the extent of their fame than the force of 
my own sensaticms. Only do not reject 
my poetical scraps. I write very rapidly, 
and you know that my first thoughts are 
always^ ready to accoutre themselves with 
the tatters of the toilet of the Muses ; but 
what would be a defect in a formal volume 
is only a slight inconvenience in the fami- 
liar impromptus of carelessness. The in- 
difference with which a traveller makes 
notes in his pocket-book, is the same as for 
his clothes. He puts down what comes 
into his head as he takes what is lying 
^-bout him. After all, who knows whftt 
88 



t> TO MY WIFE. 

this pocket-book may turn out ? A vo- 
lume or nothing, I care little about it. It 
will have fulfilled 'all the hopes I formed 
of it, if it succeeds sometimes in cheating 
the torments of absence by one of those il- 
lusions which I embrace so easily that they 
are sometimes equivalent to enjoyment it- 
self. 

Come then, and quit me no more, for it 
is eight in the evening. The tide is go- 
ing out, and already leaves, for several fa- 
thoms behind, an uneven, waving, sinu- 
ous band of black ^^Wi, just like the irre- 
gular projection of the last waves which ex- 
pired in floods of foam on the sand. We 
shall embark in the Unity corvette. Cap- 
tain Holden ; it is that which you see from 
here with the black and blue flag flying. 

No, rather let us separate, I beseech 
you, for this night. The sea is-so rough 
that the fishermen themselves have not 
dared to attempt the daily navigation 
which supplies the subsistence of their fi- 



TO MY WIFE. 7 

milies. The inunense surface is furrowed 
all over with high and vertical mountains, 
like the rocks of the coast, glittering white 
like them, rushing, striking, mounting one 
above the other, breaking and falling with 
a tremendous roar on the beach. The 
wind is contrary, and furious. The sea^ 
gull, which it drives along with impetuo- 
sity, draws in his long wings, as the skil- 
ful sailor does his canvas, and jGUling 
obliquely by degrees, comes down quite on 
the ground. Heaven forbid I should e# 
pose you, my dadling tjreasures, to the ca- 
prices of this terrible dement. In the 
name of my rest, let us separate for this 
night. I diall find you on the cqipositc 
shores. 



i4 



a 



CHAPTER II. 



PASSAGE FBOM DIEPPE TO BBI6HT0N. 

This passage, which is commonly per- 
formed in ten hours, lasted thirty-two. It 
was not yet midnight, when the black 
cloud called le grain showed itself like a 
point in the south ; by d^rees it came 
down, displajdng irregular forms, and 
pouncing ujpon us like a bird of prey which 
grows larger as it approaches. It recalled 
to my mind, in its sudden and gigantic in- 
crease, those whimsical figures of optics, 
the imperfect and often ridiculous exhibi- 
tions of the phantasmagoria which rush 
from the magical lantern of Robertson, ac- 
quiring successively colours, appearances. 



DIEPPE TO EBIGHTOV. Q- 

figures, and at length go out close to the 
face of the spectator, beating the oiled 
paper of the frames with their pasteboard 
wings. Unfortunately for us our demon 
was more real, and for a long time made 
us toil upon the waves, which mounted to 
the shrouds. Every thing fell about in the 
vessel, the utensils, the chairs and tables, 
and the sailors. The rolling was so strong 
that it drove us from our beds. Add to 
all this, the flapping of the sails, the creak- 
ing of the vessel, the maledictions of the 
French passenger3, the methodical and 
energetic godrdema of the sailors, the con- 
vulsive groans of the passengers who had 
got the sea-sickness, the exclamations of 
the ladies, who were praying with all the 
fervour which fear can inspire ; for thene 
were ladies, and some very pretty indeed, 
eyes of such soft melancholy, features of 
such chaste purity, that mixture of the 
ideal perfection of heaven and of earthly 
passion which, composes the physiognomy 
b6 



10 DIEPPE TO BEIGHTON. 

of the heroines of romance. But heroines 
of romance are quite out of the question 
in a vessel that is on the point of sinking I 
All is reduced to that exchange of com- 
passion and of services which engages the 
strong in the defence of the weak in a com- 
mon danger ; and which, in my opinion, 
when the danger is inevitable, is the most 
complete seal of the immortal destination 
of man. The boasted philosophy of the 
ancients would go no farther than to ad- 
mire the impassibility of a brute in a 
storm. 

At sunrise we perceived that the storm 
had driven us far out of our course. We 
were obliged to return towards Brighton 
by tacking, and waiting for the wind, which 
had completely fallen. In vain did our 
sailors whistle towards the south-east, the 
breeze paid no attention to them ; and we 
were reduced to the contemplation of the 
gloomy stupor of the atmosphere, which 
seemed to threaten a new storm, that would 



DIEPPE TO BftlGHTOK. 11 

have driven us again out to sea, or have 
dashed us against the charming coast of 
England, whose graceful contours winded 
so near us,, cov^ied with green meadows 
and picturesque woods. The sun had just 
set in very sombre clouds, the momi had 
risen broad and bloody, the sea was mo- 
tionless like the basin of the Tuilleries; and 
it seemed as if stretching out one^s arm one 
would touch Brighton, while one of those 
events which are not rare in the history of 
navigation, might prevent our ever reaching 
it. Such a situation appears to me more 
terrible than even the anxieties of a storm. 
The heart of man, I think, more easily 
conceives the necesdty of yielding to the 
ravages of violence in nature, than to the 
imposnbility of conquering its immoveable 
inertia. When he su£Pers by resistance, 
his vanity is a compensation ; but when he 
yields without a struggle, he loses even the 
charms of danger, and feels an additional 
torture in the exhaustion of his. fallen. 
b6 



12 DIEPPE TO BftlGHTOK. 

energy. But this is a fine philosophical 
speculation, to be sure, on the subject efa, 
dead calm in the English Channel ! Be- 
ndes, a favourable breeze is springing up, 
the ship swims along, the shores fly away, 
carrying along with them the famous field 
of the battle of Hastings. We are in the 
road. 



/ 



IS 



CHAPTER III. 



BRIGHTON BOAD. 



At four in the morning we had cast an- 
chor in the road, for Brighton has no har^^ 
hour. The custom-house sends off a boat 
to the vessels, which receives the passen- 
gers and their luggage ; but it cannot reach 
the shore, on account of the shallowness, of 
the water. The passengers are obliged to 
be carried on the robust dioulders of the 
sailors, who^ for this act of complaisance^ 
aslt only the trifle of three shillings a^head^ 
We are in England, where the representa^ 
tive sign of the existence of a French fa- 
mily for two or three days representis ho* 
thing. 



14 BBIGHTON ROAI>. 

These first details will no doubt appear 
trifling, and particularly so, unless the 
reader will have the kindness to recollect 
that I am writing mj journal, which con- 
tains the history of all my impressions. 
One of the most lively of them all is the 
aspect of a new country ; and after having 
been absolutely forced to travel from ad- 
venture to adventure, through the rest of 
Eurc^, I am now for the first time on the 
soil oi England. 

The shore oi Brighton is celebrated for 
its sea-bathing, which attracts every year 
the first company in the kingdom. It de- 
serves tlus celebrity by the picturesque 
el^ance of its charming views, to whidi 
no expression can do justice; espedally^ 
whesa tfa« ray oi the rising sun, glittering 
by degrees on the face of the waters which 
are dowly illuminated, strike here and there 
with their ligfat, long zones of the sea, 
wfaidi detach themselves fixHn it& obscure 
extent like silver isles ; or else play among 



BRIGHTON ROAD. 15 

the sails of a little bark, which floats in- 
undated with brightness on a brilliant 
plane, among innumerable vessels which 
the light has not yet touched. It is prin- 
cipally on the horizon that the mixture of 
departing darkness and advancing light is 
remarkable. All the obscurities descend, 
all the lights arise. The earth and the 
firmament seem to have exchanged attri- 
butes. In the air, a sombre vapour is 
precipitated and dissolved ; on the earth, 
a mild reflexion €$ li^t threads, inces- 
santly increasing in trani^arency and 
warmth ; and the most distant line of the 
dark ocean rises resplendent on the shades 
of the sky. 



16 



CHAPTER IV. 



BRIGHTON. 



The extreme cleanliness of the towns in 
England is so well known, that, on arriy- 
ing at Brighton, I was astonished to find 
myself still forced to be astonished. Ima- 
gine to. yourself an assemblage of decora- 
tions full: of ^race and lightness, such as 
the imagination would wish in a magical 
theatre, and you will have some idea of 
our first station. Brighton, however, pre- 
sents no edifice worthy of remark, with the 
exception of the king'^s palace, which is 
constructed in the Oriental style, and pro- 
bably on the j^n of some building in In- 
dia. There is not much.harmony between 



BRIGHTON. 17 

this eastern style and the surrounding 
houses, built like pretty Italian pavilions 
under a northern sky ; but it is the mark 
of a power which stretches its sceptre over 
a pait of the east, and draws from it the 
principal elements of its prosperity. This 
incc^rence, ^notwithstanding, has no bad 
eflFect in a picture of illusicms. Fairy 
Land is not subject to the rule of the 
unities^. 

I continued my journey along a road 
without ruts, without jolting, without any 
embarrassment, in a commodious el^ant 
vehicle, adorned with taste, drawn, or 
rather carried away by four beautiful 
horses, all alike, all with the smne pace, 
who devoured the distance, chamjnng bits 
of the most splendid polish, and starting 
and snorting under a harness of a rich and 
noble simplicity. A coachman in livery 
drove them, and a handsome neat postilion . 
urged them on. Every two leagues, pos^ 
tilions, attentive^ civil, neither impertincnjt 



18 BKK5HTON. 

n^ in liquor^ biought out fresh horses 
just tike the first, irhich we eould see 
strtkii^ the ground at m distance, as if 
eager and impatient for the career they 
were to go through. Though the distance 
to London n not great, no ddicate atten- 
tiohs whidi could embellidi it were omitt- 
ed by the endianters who led me aloi^. 
Half-way, anoflBdous major-domo intro- 
duced me into a magnificent saloon, in 
which were served all sorts of refresh- 
ments—limpid tea, which sparkled in 
dmia ; frothy porter, which foamed in sil- 
ver ; and, on anoth^ table, choice, copi- 
ous, varied dishes, watered with F'ort. 
After this I set out again, and the eager 
coursers— but perhaps it is time to take 
breath, and to say, in more positive terms, 
that England is the first country in the 
worid for its horses, public carriages, and 
inns. The magnificent equipage I have 
just mentioned was the diligence, and the 
caravansera of the Arabian Nights, a cafi 



BRIGHTON. 19 

on the high road. One might eainly, in 
the environs of London, comprehend the 
mistake of Don Quixote, who took inns 
for castles. 

In fact, from Brighton to London, it is 
merely a street of twenty leagues, border- 
ed with parks, gardens, smiling farms, 
pretty country houses, charming paviUons, 
covered from top to bottom with hangings 
of roses, and preceded by courts or terra- 
ces shaded with cool bowers, under which 
dance young girls, whom Raphael might 
regret not to have seesL Youth is charm- 
ing every where, but in England it is ra- 
vishing. A plain giA imder sixteen years 
of age is almost a rarity. 



m 



CHAPTER V. 



LONDON.. 



The first aspeet of London has smne<- 
thing disagreeable. The houses, built of 
dark or shining bricks hke walls of polish^ 
ed lava^ almost always without a rising 
roof, as if they had lost a story, and in^ 
cessantly bathed with the heavy vapour of 
the jcoal-smoke, give one the idea of a re- 
cent conflagration. But the eye, soon ac- 
customed to the ordinary style of the ar- 
chitecture, to the disagreeable colour of 
the houses, and the dismal monotony of 
the atmosphere and sky, becomes more 
and more astonished at the multitude of 
those vast and superb streets, accompanied 



LONDON. 21 

on each side with a broad footway, and 
decorated with shops glittering with all 
the treasui^s of industry, and all the 
wonders of luxury ; immense promenades, 
which bring the coimtry and even solitude 
into the centre of a town ; delicious inclo- 
suresof verdure, called squares, which form 
the ornament of the open spots, and are 
the delight of their inhabitants. One then 
feels that London wants nothing to be the 
first city in the world but the sky of Ve- 
nice or the horizon of Constiantinople, the 
antiquities of Rome, or the edifices of 
Paris. 

Ail populous states and great towns 
have ISO many points of resemblance in an 
advanced state of crvilization, that it is im- 
possible to fix the shades which character- 
ize them, without descending into the most 
minute details. This I have neither time, 
nor inclination, nor power to undertake, 
estranged as I am to the art of observii^ 
facts which do not act immediately upon 



SS LONDON. 

mef and do not make me feel a profound 
8a[is»tion of enthusiasm or aversion. The 
passing guest of a magnificent city, which, 
however, q>eaks but httle to my ima^a- 
tion and my heart, I feel that even the at- 
traction of novelty, so interesting to man* 
kind in general, would not have drawn me 
to it, only that London happens to be on 
the road to the mountains of Scotland. 
Whether it be irritability or weakness, I 
have never been capable of directing my 
attention towards two objects at once, or 
of being diverted from an object which I 
had in view by others which separated me 
from it. Another man would do other- 
wise, and would do well ; but I am too 
much absorbed in what I am seeking, to 
be occujned with things which seek me. 
The existence of the inhabitants of towns, 
wluch always weighs upon me rather in a 
disf^eeable way, overwhelms me entirdy 
when I reflect that I have within my reach 
a state of soUtude and hberty. It is the 



LONDON. 52S 

very most I can do if I can manage to fix 
some lines of those days destitute of air, 
sun, and poetry, and from which I am an- 
xious to escape, because here, as elsewhere, 
there is a tormenting security, and a tire- 
some variety. What is admired in Lon- 
don is certiunly admiraUe ; but, after all, it 
is only a town, an immense town. It is 
nothing but London. 



24 



CHAPTER VI. 



PUBLIC BUILDrKGS. 



Hebb are subjects on which there is no- 
thing to say, except that all has been said, 
and that it would be more than a ridicu- 
lous pretension to attempt to include in a 
few lines the substance of a thousand vo- 
lumes. I shall repeat it no more. 

It is generally beUeved in France, that 
England is the richest country in Europe 
in Gothic buildings, and that this is owing 
to the respect of the nation for the fine 
arts ; a sentiment, it is added, carried so 
far that the Reformers themselves did not 
involve, in their fury against the papal 
worship, the buildings consecrated to it. 



PUBLIC BUILDINGS. 25 

An induction is drawn from this not at all 
to the advantage of France, where nothing 
has been spared ; but this is founded on 
error. The revolutions of England, at the 
period in question, were directed against 
certain ancieiit institutions, and especially 
against the Romish Church : biit the new 
religion required temples ; and it was evi- 
dently its interest to preserve those in ex- 
istence. This is what saved some of them, 
and those among the rest which enjoyed a 
great reputation, and attracted the admi- 
ration of foreigners. Notwithstanding, the 
greatest part of these buildings have been 
destroyed. Travellers, and among them 
some artists, have been deceived in this 
respect by the multitude of churches in the 
ancient style with which England is co- 
vered, and which, though not Gothic by 
antiquity, are so in their style. In fact, 
the English architects have had the admi- 
rable taste to feel that this mode of con- 
struction i^y as has been said, eminently 
c 



36 PUBLIC BUILDIK68. 

Chrutkoy mnd that the aanctuaiy of the 
ludy of holieB) could not, without a sort of 
pro&aatioiH resemble the marUe house of 
the idol& Gothic churches are still con- 
atructed in England; and I have seen mo- 
dem painted ardies q)ring up, carved 
roMB, and storied capitals in 8t<me, just 
come out of the quarry, as well as it was 
done six hundred years ago^ widi the dif- 
feroBoe only of taste, genius, and imagi- 
nation, which have not gone on improving, 
in this respect, in this age of improvement. 
I am disposed to think that it is to the res- 
paotf ul preservation of this sjrstem of ar- 
c^tecture, as ancient for them as the first 
preaching of Chri^anity, that the Eng- 
Uflh are indebted, in great part, fc»* the 
prescrvatioii even of retigtous s^tknents, 
that powerful and infaffible jHVsenrer of 
society itself. 

I saw Westminster Abbey very imper- 
fecdy, as it was obstructed by the prepara- 
tions for the coronation. It would be an 



PUBLIC BUILDINGS. 27 

admirable edifice evea in France, where, 
howcTer, it would not hold the first place 
among our churches of the first orda:. 

We might form an idea of the relative 
superiority ot Gothic over clasiHcal archi- 
tecture, in this speciid appHcation, that is 
to say, as far as regards poetical expres- 
sion, and the harmony of effects, by com- 
paring this old cathedral of Westminster 
with the celebrated temple of Saint Paul, 
for I hardly dare give another name to 
this beautifiil Pagan church. Saint Paulas 
18 imposing from its size ; but, if I may be 
allowed the expresmon, it is a physical and 
material grandeur, an empty greatness, 
without solemnity or awe, or dimness or 
mystery. There is in the smallest Grothic 
chapel a prc^undity, an indefinite concep- 
tion, an mfinity, of which nothing gives us 
the least idea in this majestic but uniform 
area, inundated with an equal light ; while 
its perfectly symmetrical exactitude leaves 
aothing to the imagination to faiM^, no- 
c8 



28 PUBLIC BUILDINGS. 

thing that the mind can wish. Ask a man 
of common information what strikes him 
in it, he will talk to you of the immensity 
of the dimensions, of the boldness of the 
dome, of the purity of the proportions, of 
the beauty of the lines. But ask a man 
merely gifted with simplicity and sensibi- 
lity, what he feels there. . . • This is the 
question. 

The church of Saint Paul is the Pan- 
theon of the illustrious men of the last ge- 
neration, beginning with Johnson and Rey- 
nolds, of whom there are statues. Around 
them are the monuments of a number of 
officers, who were killed during the last 
thirty years, fighting against France, 
fruitless is the glory of battles, which 
plants a palm wherever it sinks a grave ! 
Some of these small monuments, generally 
interesting from the patriotic motive which 
erected them, generally of indifferent exe- 
cution, were formed by the chisel of Bacon 
and Flaxman. I should not be sorry if those 



PUBLIC BUILDINGS. S5|f 

among our warriors who Have left an his- 
torical name — and I would not except a 
single one— could receive among us a simi- 
lar homage in a consecrated spot. Only 
it would be necessary for the architect to 
have a certain space, for a church like 
Saint Paul's would not be sufficient. 

The name of Christopher Wren, who 
built this famous church, recals to miml 
the gigantic pillar called the Monument, 
with its defamatory inscription against the 
Roman Catholics. It does but little ho- 
nour to the artist, and less to the con- 
science of sects, and the good faith of par- 
ties ; but calumny has long been an en- 
gine of government. 

Among so many edifices which I did 
not remark, or only remarked to remem- 
ber to forget them, I should be reproach- 
ed if I did not at least name the Tower of 
London. There are things which one 
should never know but by their reputa- 
c8 



30 PUBLIC BUILDINGS. 

tion ; tar this frequ^itly excites a sensa- 
tion full of historical recc^ections, which 
the mind appropriates by habit to an ideal 
figure created within itself : while an ac- 
quaintance with the r^ object, which 
turns out different from what one had sup- 
posed, carries off all the ideas it represent- 
ed ; so that one loses a marvellous treasure 
of illusions and saitiments, in order to ac- 
quire a positive knowledge of a material 
fact, cX very little consequence in itself. 
In seeing the Tower of Lcxidon, I no 
longer thought of all that it used to recal 
to my mind when I met widi it in conrcr- 
sation or in a book. The insignificant dis* 
play of ostentatious curiosities whidi it c<h^ 
tains, and winA uselessly overload the at- 
tention with a fastidious abundance of 
words, is prejudidal moreover to that ge- 
neral impression in which one likes to be 
absorbed in the midst of the grand scenes 
oC nature the beautiful creatioos of art. 



PUBLIC BUILDIKGS. St 

and the striking monuments of religion and 
history. The armoury of the Tower of 
Lcmdon is of very Httle importance to the 
travell^ who has seen the arsenal of Ve- 
nice, or any other great collection of in- 
struments invented for the destruction of 
man. It is always, more or less, nothing 
but an armourer's shop, in which all the 
articles are well arranged. As to the wild 
beasts, the sight of which is commonly dis- 
gusting enough, they have not any more 
attractions in London than in Paris ; and 
the captivity of these animals of the desert, 
doubly enslaved in their cages, situated in 
a state prison, could only excite a dolorous 
idea, did we not reflect that a prisoner of 
a lofty mind may perhaps have found in 
them a motive of philosophical consolation. 
I can more easily conceive the resignation 
of a Wallace, a Strafford, or a Sydney, 
when imprisoned near the den of a lion, 
c 4 



D% PUBLIC BUILDINGS. 

Among all this farrago of curiosities, 
there is, however, an instrument of rude ap- 
pearance, the sight of which makes one''s 
hair stand on end : it is the axe which cut 
oflF the head of Charles I. The sight of 
it made me shudder. 



33 



CHAPTER VII. 



THE DOCKS— GREENWICH. 

The Docks are, as their name indicates, 
immense basins, which receive the commer- 
cial vessels of England. Warehouses pro- 
portioned to this prodigious concourse of 
vessels contain the produce of all the coun- 
tries of the world. Immeasurable grana- 
ries and cellars are destined for the pre- 
servation of grain and liquids. The mul- 
titude, the variety, and the astonishing di^ 
mensions of these rich magazines, exhibit 
a spectacle unrivalled in Europe. In a 
very industrious and very intelligent na^ 
tion, the docks are the most extraordinary 
monument of the industry, and perhaps of 
c5 



34 THE DOCKS— GREENWICH. 

the intelligence of man. They are cer- 
tainly the most useful. They have this 
incontestible advantage over columns and 
pyramids which bear above the clouds the 
parade of our impotence and vanity. The 
statue of the founder of docks is not erect- 
ed at the expense of the sweat, the tears, 
and the blood of his countrymen. It is 
a tribute of gratitude levied on the prospe- 
rity fSnr which hi& country is indebted to 
htM. 

Deseendb^ the current a! the Thames, 
you arrivv' at Greenwich, a supcrtr edifice, 
engmaUy mtcnded for a pa^Me, but eon- 
' vetted with move taste, and equal nagni- 
$ce«ce, into an hoqpital for €M saUors. 
Hcve the mariner, arrived m port, after 
Uk tronbletoHie voyage of hfe, concern- 
plates widi fdleasure the windings of the 
xiviei whkh so oflen wknessed the ad<ven- 
turous departure and fcrtunate return of 
his sails. He lof^es to cewil the ^iffs^ so 
different in their forms, their cargoes, 

4 



THE J>0CK8—» GEKSKWICR. S5 

their flags, their manoeuvres^ whidi bring 
back to his mind the cBstant expeditioiis <tf 
his youth, and recc^pnses with delij^t the 
dress of the stranger whose shores he has 
visited. 

The park at Greenwich is one of the 
finest in England. The view from it, or 
as the English say, the admirable |7ftMp^c< 
which is enjoyed from the observatory, is 
beyond all description and all painting. 
There is in the park at Greenwich every 
thing that can flatter the heart and the 
ima^nation of a man of feeling, even {he 
charm of the desert. I found there a rus- 
tic mansion, almost as retired from the 
world as a chaiet in the solitudes of Swit- 
zerland. 

We dined on the bank of the river, our 
eyes fixed on the enchanting perspective of 
its bcHxlers. The land was entirely adorn- 
ed with charming habitations, and the wa- 
ter covered with wealthy vessels, the usual 
tributaries of itsf^ commerce. It was im- 
c6 



2b THB BOCKS— 6REBNWICH. 

possible to doubt that we were present at 
one of the most brilliant scenes of civiliza- 
tion in its highest degree of perfection. On 
turning my eyes to a comer of the horizon 
that had escaped me till then, I perceived 
a gibbet. 



87 



CHAPTER VIII 



THE THEATBKS. 

The English have no advantage over 
U8 in the construction of their theatres ; 
and they cannot enter into comparison 
with us in the management of decorations 
and machines. This part of their plays 
is n^lected in a way very destructive of 
theatrical illusion. The colonnades of 
the Palace of Cleopatra, and the walls of 
the Capitol, run on pieces of wood arrang- 
ed by servants in silk stockings ; and, to 
see trees advancing forwards from the 
back of a landscape, one would think it 
was the forest of Dunsinane in the tragedy 
of Macbeth. 



38 THE THEATRES. 

The literary part of their scenic repre- 
sentations is perhaps still more imperfect, 
with the exception of the masterpieces of 
Shakespeare, and of a very few poets who 
have showed themselves worthy of follow- 
ing at a vast distance the steps of that 
great man. It may even be said, that 
they have now no dramatic literature at 
all ; whether it be that the systematic form 
of their govermnent, whidi has reduced 
every temper and every passdon to given 
pn^pOTtions and measures, is no longer suit- 
ed to the display of this spedes of talent ; 
or whether the genius of the nation is bet- 
tar satisfied with the ^aj labour of imita- 
tion, now that original gesiushas exhai»t- 
ed the faculty ^ cresting. The sti^ in 
Londim at present lives m fieict on almost 
hteral tvanslaticms from the Frendh, Grer- 
man, cur Italian* I saw performed the 
some day, in a theatre I shall mention 
presently, AdolpAe H Clara^ Le Jdkux maU 
gri luif and La Somnambule. There are 



THB THEATBE9. 59 

two or three autlKMrs at Paris who will pro- 
bably congratulate me on having been so 
l<^iiiiat& 

It is not for want of good actors that 
the genius of the English seems so sparing 
of dramatic norelties. On the contrary, it 
wcmkl be diffieuk to find elsewhere a more 
sadafiMstcvy and more complete union ol 
talent ; and this judgment is applicable to 
eadi particular theatre in LoimIoo. It 
seems thai die success at Aem ertablidi. 
masts 19 not founded oo the peculiar merit 
of afew mdiiidnisils, and, asdiey say in Pa- 
risy on an insulated jpmipf or a sditary dia- 
mond. Att the peffbrmers concur in a just 
proportion to that general harmony which 
is the pvincipal diarm of a well-managed 
play ; and if some pearliy some diamonds 
be foond amongst them, dHey do not re- 
qme the e#ect c^ contrast ; and there is 
no reason to suppose that tjiey owe tbe 
li^riy spiecKlour winch ^tingnishes them 
Uy this effect, or to the coarseness of the 



40 THE THEATRES. 

setting. It is on this account that actors 
in England are commonly honoured by 
the esteem of the public, who love to ac- 
knowledge in some way or other any at- 
tention paid to their wishes. 

It would be almost as superfluous to en- 
ter into details on the theatres of London, 
as on those of Paris, in a publication like 
this, which, most probably, will only be 
glanced over by persons equally well ac- 
quidnted with both. There is nothing, be- 
sides, which is so like a theatre as a theatre ; 
and the only new sensation which I disa- 
greeably learnt from those that I went to 
in England, will soon be no more new to 
the Parisians than to me. I believe, at 
least, that they are promised that brilliant 
illumination of gas, which perhaps is well 
enough appropriated to theatrical effects, 
but, at the same time, being too much like 
day-light, and quite hostile to the enchant- 
ments of the toilet, fills the atmosphere 
with a heavy, ardent^ deleterious, often fe- 



THE THEATRES. 41 

tid vapour, which torments the mind with 
the fear of danger, and occasions sensa- 
tions so disagreeable as to be almost in- 
supportable. With this exception, I re- 
peat it, and the necessity of being in full 
dress, there is very Uttle difference between 
the first theatre in London and the first in 
Paris. At the period of our journey a 
particular circumstance served to increase 
this illusion. The noble and ingenious 
pantomime of Albert was then the dehght 
of the whole city, and in the vortex of 
that excellent dancer flew Mademoiselle 
Noblet, and Mademoiselle Fanny Bias. 
Rome rCitaitplits dans Rome. 

Nevertheless, as it is my wi^ in this 
work to describe my sensations, and I ex- 
perienced one extremely lively which I 
would not forget, I shall remind the read- 
er that I promised to speak of a theatre 
which is neither the Opera, where the Voice 
of Madame Camporesi, and of some other 
very pleasing singers, will always bring to- 



42 THE THEATRES. 

gether the dilletianii without my assistance ; 
nor Covent Garden, where the profound 
and pathetic acdn^ of Macready, and the 
comic powers of Farren, so natural and so 
keen, can sufficiently recommend th^n- 
selves ; nor the Surry theatre, the faTOur- 
ite temple of the Melo-drama, where our 
own superb Melpomene might occasional- 
ly be very happy to recruit for perf(»rm« 
ers:— -the theatre I mean is the English 
Opera House; and though I suppose it has 
nothing to envy in the yogne and r^puta- 
ticm of the others, I feel I shall have ^en 
too feeble an idea of it, if I did not hasten 
to name Miss EeQy. It is absolutely ne- 
cessary to have seen Miss Kelly, in order 
to comprehend fiiUy the whole ext^it of an 
admirable intelligence, seconded by an ad* 
mirabk organization* Miss Kelly is not 
<nily an actress (^ the most perfect tone and 
of the most exquisite taste, she is the Tery 
personage she representee or rather it is 
the embodied idea of the character which 



THS THEATRICS. 4S 

the author has attempted to paint. One 
might take a bet that all the given combi- 
nations of the human countenance would 
never produce a whole so intelligent and so 
striking as that of the features of Miss 
Kelly. Nevertheless their purity is not aU 
tered by that prodigious mobUity of ex- 
pressions which lends itself to all the shades 
of thought. She can eyea give, it is said, 
at pleasure, the expression of indifPerence, 
and this is confirmed by some deplorable 
anecdotes. One of those unfortunate men, 
whose despair, indeed, I could compre- 
hend, but not his fury, fired a pistc^ at 
Miss Kelly, when cm the stage. If this 
phrensy ware contagious among her ad- 
mirers, the stage would long sii^e have 
been deprived of her talents. 

Full of the opinion so common anuu^g 
us <rf the bad reception which the Eng&sh 
give to strangers, and to the French in par- 
ticular ; and consequ«itly surjnrised more 
and more at the delicate r^nements of po- 



44 THE THEATRES. 

liteness with which we were constantly over- 
whelmed, I first began to think that their 
malevolence, become more timid, or more ge- 
neralized, had taken refuge in their carica- 
tures—in which unfortunately we ourselves 
are nothing behind in the disgusting ad- 
vantage of cynical effrontery— or in ano- 
nymous pamphlets and newspapers— the 
worthy field of base passions— or finally, 
in theatrical pieces ; and I felt quite 
anxious to verify this supposition, in order 
to justify to my own eyes the exaggerated 
hostilities of our Boulevards. I therefore 
watched with the greatest attention the re- 
presentation of one of those cutting satires 
in which a Parisian belle is immolated to 
the gaiety of the best company in London. 
Strange to say, I could not discover the 
joke. Imagine to yourself a sort of ra- 
vishingly pretty doll, elegant to a miracle, 
who, when she is not occupied with her 
toilet, her parrot, or at most her lover, has 
nothing in the world to do ;^ who opens a 



THE THEATRES. 45 

book, and leaves it there, or whirls round 
a terrestrial globe for the pleasure of see- 
ing it go round; dances, sings, cries, 
laughs, yawns, is in despair; has fifty 
ideas, fifty wishes in a minute, and forgets 
fifty for one that she will forget in its 
turn. All this is perhaps less coarse than 
our exhibitions, but it must be confessed 
it is very unjust. Good God ! who ever 
saw a Parisian woman like that i 



46 



CHAPTER IX. 



THE MUSEUMS. 

It is no more my intention to give in 
this place a description of all the museums 
in London, than it was just now to treat 
of all its theatres and public buildings. 
The private exhibitions are a sort of spe- 
culation, which cupidity would multiply 
if vanity did not; for one must pay to get 
into all these exhibitions^ and even to the 
national museums ; so that talent and ge- 
nius are become objects of industry and 
commercial commodities, which enjoy con- 
nderable credit even among professed mer- 
chants on ^Change. Strange turn of so- 
ciety ! the only one perhaps to be expect- 



THE MUSEUMS. 47 

ed from the new direction of men^s minds ; 
artisans have ^ven way to machines, ar- 
tists have fallen into the class of artisans, 
and all is becoming perfect ! 

As the Royal Academy of London ad- 
mits into its annual exhibition whatever is 
presented to it, without any competition, 
examination, or judgment, one must ex- 
pect to find many poor productions, and 
even many below mediocrity ; for this is 
an inconvemence from which countries 
where greater precautions are taken are 
not always exempt. 

If the En^sh deserve, as I think they 
do, that reputation for good sense which 
th^ enjoy among the naticms, if they do 
not add to their just grounds of national 
pride, v«y exaggerated, very false, very 
absord pretensions, I have a {Measure in 
thinking that they do not flatter themselves 
^th the hope of ever having a school <^ 
historical sculpture and painting. The 
reasons which have deprived them of this 



48 THE MUSEUMS. 

advantage are probably very easy to find, 
for those observers who seek in the statistics 
of different nations, the incontestible action 
of institutions on the arts. There is no- 
thing remarkable ip the sculpture this year 
'but eight admirable busts by Chantrey. 
The most striking is that of the bust of 
Rochester, and above all, that of Sir 
Walter Scott. In this truly animated 
marble his physiognomy is reproduced as 
I read it in his works, full of penetration, 
smartness, and power; all the greatness 
necessary to rise to the highest conceptions 
of man; all the ingeniouscunning*, taste, and 
philosophy, that are requisite for sporting 
in boundless prodigality, with the resources 
of genius itself; a mixture of Comeille 
and Moliere, of Swift and Milton. The 
Walter Scott of Chantrey has the forehead 
of Homer, and the mouth of Rabelais. 
It must be very like. 

* Ingenieuu malice. 



THE MUSEUMS. 49 

In painting, landscapes and sea-views 
are the pieces in which the EngUsh have 
the fewest rivals in Europe. This is the 
same in nature ; and every one is fond of 
the beauties of his own country. Some of 
their pictures almost surpass every idea 
that one can form to one's self of perfec- 
tion in this. style of painting ; but the palm 
of the exhibition belongs to a large land- 
scape by Constable, with which the an- 
cient or modem masters have very few 
masterpieces that could be put in opposi- 
tion. Near, it is only broad daubings of 
ill-laid colours, which offend the touch as 
well as the sight, they are so coarse and 
uneven. At the distance of a few steps it 
is a picturesque country, a rustic dwelling, 
a low river whose little waves foam over 
the pebbles, a cart crossing a ford : It is 
water, air, and sky ; it is Ruysdael, Wou- 
vermans, or Constable. It is not ri^t, 
however, to discourage any body, and 
the French are not easily "ffitoouraged. 

D 



50 TM£ MUaEUMS; 

Though our landscapes aire not so fresh as 
those ot the Ei^lisK because we live in a 
less humid atmosphere, and are not so ex- 
clusively occupied widi our marine^ aikl 
because we Hve on a continent where we 
have sometimes travelled over a good deal 
o{ ground, still our eafhibiikms prove fixnn 
time to time thatwe are capaUe of producing 
admirable things evea in landscape and sea- 
views. Our artists should not consider a 
journey to Rome as the sole complement 
of th^r clas«c«l studies. Natuse m cbKu 
sioal too, fbr all modiel» have been taken 
haok her, aad it ia adivisable to* revisit her 
sometimes. I have often admireily in ouv 
provinces, several of those enehantk^ as- 
pects which the Bnglash envy us, ^diich 
they carry off from> us^ if I may be allow^ 
ed the eMpression, and whidu we ai» 
astenisbed toreoognize in* theiv dnawii^, 
because our artists do not travel, or if I 
nay be. permitted t» say it, because they 
travel badly. What oountvy, however fiu 



vouced 1^ nailuTey wmAd not ht pvoiufk of 
die bcsutj of the poetictl hankB o£ iiat 
Lokey (sr of the wiU and aiqsef b majestj 
of thtt: Fjrreoeesif^ Hc^rv oIleiLfaaive i step- 
ped, struck with admiration, ftt the foot of 
that cascade of Mount Jura, which falls 
from the top of Mount Girard, between 
hills covered with flowers and shades, or 
on the borders of that romantic lake, which 
bathes, without overflowing, the green 
lawns of Chalins ! But I am no painter. 
Fainting in water colours is admirably 
treated in England. Turner still pre- 
serves the superiority of former years; 
but others are remarkable beside him^ and 
this is no mean distinction. Among them 
are some French artists, who maintain 
very honourably in London the reputation 
of our school. An Englishman, who 
found me out by my pronunciation, Vhich 
is no diflScult matter, had the kindness to 
point them out to me, and accompanied 
each name with very flattering eulogiums. 
1)2 



5S THE MUSEUMS. 

This national politeness should be a noble 
object of emulation among all enlightened 
nations. Petty quarrels are a thousand 
times more disgraceful than the animosi- 
ties of savages. 



53 



CHAPTER X. 



BICHMOND* 



With a little boat, that one might car- 
ry under one^s arm, a good wind, the tide, 
a grain of courage, and a great deal of 
equipoise, you may embark on the Thames, 
and while your ears are charmed with the 
omversation of an intelligent and learned 
friend like HulmandiQ, you rapfdly cut 
along the surface of a river without rushes, 
without mmd, without strand, wWch dies 
aw»y against verdant banks, beautiful as 
the highest inventions of thje mo^t highly 
gifted painter. Leaving the royal palace 
of Kew; to the right, you reach Twicken- 
ham, where they show the habitation of 
j> 3 



54 KiCHlfOND. 

Pope, and, casting your eyes on the oppo- 
site side, you inhale the umbrageous cool« 
ness of Windsor, which inspired the rich- 
est of his songs. The Duke pf Orleans re- 
sided for some time at Twickenham, and 
we looked with a very lively interest for 
the house of Colonel Atthalin, whose 
name is so dear to glory and the arts, and 
to whom we personally owe so much gra- 
tkude. It ts unfortunatelj true, thai in 
the most natural and nrostopeiifieiitttieittB 
of bur poor spedcs there k always m little 
egotism. 

The terrace of Biclmiand has been ocm- 
pored to that of Saint-GarmaniL The lat- 
ter, however, can bear no comparison with 
respect to its extent and its striking ma- 
jesty, which render it a sort of moitu- 
ment, nor even as to the immenm^ of its 
prospect and the variety of its aspects. 
RidmuMMl terrace is a short, narrow, irre- 
gular walk, on the side of a Ml, at the 
foot of which q)read6 out a ridi and ad- 



RICHMONd. SS 

■umbk valley, ooverad wiidi Migmfioent 
woods, mtersected here and there widi d^. 
iicieus kims^ or sepamted ooeaskmaUy, so 
w» to dlow ^le eye to follow die romantic 
courae df the Tluimes. The greftt adv«m- 
imgt of tkis prospect^ probaUy unmaiied 
in dw woiU, YXMsnts in tte midlknEide of 
those srujperb tiees, whk^ i»«pe finnneily 
die pride aho dToUr fields^ tnit whose «o- 
letnm aatiqfaity has not been vespedted^ and 
whose absence lea/^es expound to otir tkw 
a irhite^ ^akaimiassoil^ osionrlees, widtattt 
effect, without vegetation, disag r e os hfa to 
the eye and to the ima^nation. The 
English take delight in keeping up, mere- 
ly for the ornament of their pleasure- 
grounds, vast plantations of large trees 
unconnected together, but which, from 
their exuberant growth, incessantly pour 
into the balmy atmosphere an abund- 
ant and salutary freshness. We even saw 
some of these trees half decayed with age, 
but carefully restored by art; so lively 
P 4. 



56 RICHMOND. 

and profound is the religious solicitude 
which they inspire^ While the respect 
of this nation for domestic animals saves 
them the sight of those disgusting and 
cruel scenes, which too often dishonour 
our towns, their respect even for plants 
conl3*ibutes more than any thing else to 
the ornament and prosperity of their ter- 
ritory. Tender and affectionate senti- 
ments form not oiily the happiness of the 
individual : they have an influence on the 
wel&re of nations as well as on that of 
families. 



57 



CHAPTER XI. 



OXFORD. 



If I were making a Traveller's Guide 
through Englandf I should find it very 
difficult to get through with this chapter. 
I believe no man in the world attaches less 
value than me to the tickets on things. I 
look for impressions, not for names. I 
often hear celebrated buildings mentioned 
which I know I have seen, but about which 
I never inquired any thing from my Cice- 
rone, though I was struck with admiration 
at the sight of them. This mode of en- 
joying the beauties of art may perhaps ap- 
pear rather wild; but I would not ex- 
change it for any other, because it is in^^ 
B 6 



S8 OXFORD. 

dependent, and because liberty is to me 
the greatest attraction in all pleasures. 
We are dandled from our childhood with 
the reputation of so many marvels conse- 
crated by the suffrage of centuries, that 
there is besides a keen delight in the pos- 
sibility of a new sensation : and every sen- 
sation has that charm for a man who only 
feels them indefinitely, and does not wait 
tot his extastes till he ha« been toid that a 
painting is by Apdles, or a statue by Po- 
lydore. With the Gmde ofOo^bri in my 
hand, I could cover twelve pages with the 
names of artbts, men <rf learning, and pub- 
lic buildings, with whidi I was entertained 
during my stay at Oxford^ aikl tkua, witb- 
oiit imporerishing myself^ expend all the 
emditioa oi a eatalogue, and tbc ridi ob- 
servations of a taUe of contents; but I 
consoit only my memory, and that recals 
only what struck me. Anotlwr may see 
diferently, and sec better^ and without 
ai^ difficulty. 



OXFOftD. SQ 

The first view of Oxfbid is very strik- 
mg : it ift a town entirely gothiC) bat k^t 
up with uninterrupted care erer since the 
remote poriod which histdrians omAgtk as 
the first epoch of its illustratioik The fef- 
ty ^ires of ita numerous ohurcbeii, and 
their walls crowned with buttleitimits^ i^ar- 
kle auiDi^ masses of trees of the finest ver- 
dure. The magnifioeat pteaerrtttiob of 
these edi^cM) the unity ctf style in almcist 
all these buildmgS) the taat harmony of 
iHdch hardly suftrs at all from any other 
ofajecuof comparison) tl»» tiAme of Alfted, 
which still hoters over tbk dty^ the dvou- 
rtte object (rf hk royal munificenoe^ etety 
thing transports the imaginaiion into the 
midst of the reooU^etiooa of another age. 
One wcmld suppose that these walls imi 
arisen only a few years ago^ at the roiceof 
another Amphion, and that in their indo- 
sure Alone the progress of ages had been 
arrested. If) absorbed m this fflusM, 
you east yoot eyM down a kmg street^ or 
D 6 



60 .OXFOBD. 

under the colonnades of the colleges, and 
see young men walking about dressed in 
flowing gowns, with antique caps, some 
ostentatiously displaying their elegant dra- 
peries, and flying in pursuit of pleasure 
like the companions of Aicibiades, others 
immoveable, silent, thoughtful, absorbed 
in laborious meditation like the disciples 
of Pythagoras, the illusion becomes com- 
plete, and one feels astonished to be alone 
in a modem dress in the midst of a people 
of ancient times. In fine, it is not diffi- 
cult to find at Oxford a Latin guide, and 
Latin conversation, very rare elsewhere in 
England ; but this city of the sciences is, 
in fact, only a vast university. It con- 
tains, if I am not mistaken, sixteen col- 
leges, frequented by more than two thou- 
sand young men of the three kingdoms. 

Wolsey college, founded by the cardi- 
nal of that name, is remarkable for its 
beautiful chapel, where may be seen nu- 
merous examples of. that intermediate ar^ 



OXFOBB. 61 

chitecture which the English call Saxon, 
which we might call Roman, and which 
preceded by many centuries the introduc- 
- tion of the pointed arch. These monu- 
ments, of which England is justly proud, 
are very rare in the provinces ; and in this 
respect, as in several others, it would have 
something to envy in us, if we took any 
interest in such antiquities. At this very 
time, a bit of wall, of little importance, is 
drawn, is painted, is engraved, is model- 
led, in England. In France, temples 
and palaces are demolished. O charming 
churches of Lery, of Burlay, of Saint Hip- 
polytedefiiard, masterpieces of imagination 
and taste, which I saw, with so much sorrow, 
abandoned to the ravages of time, pre- 
vious to those of the bande noire^ is it to 
be wanting to the duties of patriotism, to 
regret that the touch of a magic wand 
could not transport you to England ! You 
would subsist at least to charm the sight 
of the French traveller, and to recal to his 



62 OXFOftD. 

mind, in his distant excursions, the gttMs 
and (miaments dT his native knd ! 

The library of Wolsey college, though 
very fine, is much inferior to the .Bodleian. 
The gallery of painUngs contains numer- 
ous and superb works of Titian^ Domini- 
chino, C. Maratti, the Carraoci, and a pre- 
cious painted sketch of the Descent Jhm 
-ike Cross, by Daniel de Vditero. The re- 
fectory is adorned with a rery suitable de- 
coration ; it is a series of portraits of the 
celebrated men whom the college has pro- 
duced. Some of them are admirably plant- 
ed by Reynolds, and the best of his rivals: 
but the general sentiment which results 
from the aspect of this congress of sages 
imd learned men$ has no need t^ the en- 
chantment of the pencil. What an idea 
aS the future career of life, what a nobk 
emulation, what a just amUtion of gkiry 
must be awakened in the heart dF the stu- 
dent, who bdiolds this august senate of the 
patriarchs of iteiencc presiding ovet the 



oxrom:D. 63 

loweit «ctkm8 <^ his iiie ! The natoiidiKt 
salutes, on entering, theyenerable features 
of Dillenius; and the jurist, who has passed 
the night in meditating on the laws, casts 
a look of admiimtion on the portrait of 
Blackstone, not without a secret lM>pe of 
being ofoe day the riral of his eletated 
£Eune. These youi^ coUegians get accus- 
tomed to live among their models as if na- 
ture had preseryed them alire (br them, 
and riiould they afterwards add some new 
acqubitioiis to the imm^cife domain be- 
queathed to then: care^ they do not forget 
the protecting hand which supplied diem 
with a thread in the labjrrinth, and with a 
l^t in the dark. We carry ga eduoatkm 
diffiamitly in Fntnce, and I feel Mnry to 
say so. Permaded Uiat geience began ye«- 
terday, and that aQ the sources oi glory 
were only opened to-day, because our ig- 
noraoft and presumptuous tbeoried dl rest 
en that richculoas principle ; our students, 
in iaet^ lesm ctidy one thmg in ow pidflic 



64 OXFORD. 

schools^ which is, that they know more than 
their masters ; and, looking at the way in 
which they are taught, I am not far re- 
moved from this opinion. 

The college chapel is one of the pret- 
tiest monuments of Gothic architecture. 
The modem painted glass windows are of 
the utmost beauty ; and those which rise 
above the facade, interposed between the 
nave and the setting sun, produce a magi- 
cal effect. They represent the adoration 
of the Shepherds, and below, nine figures 
of Christian virtues, designed with a cor- 
rectness and grace which the lovers of an- 
tiquity will not perhaps prefer to the an- 
cient fUilteti, but in which some defect of 
harmony and originality is amply compen- 
sated by the perfection of the work. In 
the eourt of the same building is a Gothii:; 
cloister, the most elegant and best pre- 
served of any we have seen in Europe. 

The Radcliffe library and museum^ are 
kmmense circular buildings, of modem 



OXFOBD. 65 

taste, or renewed from the Greeks, which 
appears foreign to the ancient town, and 
from the summit of which its admirable 
panorama lies before yoU, might offer the 
subject of a new master-piece to the pencil 
of Prevost. We remarked here some an- 
tiques extremdy precious, and a very good 
library of natural history, particularly rich 
in French works. 

What could I say of that fine Bodleian 
library, which I mentioned just now, that 
has escaped the investigation of the com- 
pilers of itineraries, and the editors of al- 
manacks ! The gallery of paintings ap- 
peared to us less rich and less important 
than that of Wolsey College, though it 
contains an interesting series of portraits 
of the most celebrated English classics; 
but these paintings have little merit, if they 
are as little like as they are indifferent in 
execution. Nevertheless, one ought to see 
a S^hQoi of Athens^ executed, it i& said, by 
Julio Romano, from the cartoons of Rar 



06 OXFOED. 

phad, jn cxcelleat Ertusmm by Holbem, 
mmi Ancnchaotiiig portmt of Msrj Qaeen 
tifSeotft. In die oourt of tiiu vai* buM- 
ing, a &9ade is pointed out to stnngen, 
erected at the revival (of arts, in which the 
five orders of architectuie are uatted, in 
five stDftes, in a way more striking firam 
its singulnnty than Bstisfisutery to taistte. 
It is a spedmen of an extraordinary kind, 
aad ncrthix^ laore. I forget^ of course, 
many othar things, and peifaaps those which 
I had the most finnly resolved not to Ibr- 
get They nmy be found ev>ery wfaeie. 

I have mentioned that the stud<mts at 
Oxford have a pitrticular dress, whidh is 
very remarkdble. It is not abscdntely um- 
form> The diffierait dasses of soci^y to 
whidi these young men beloi^, are tndi* 
cated by as maxty modifioaXions in thdr 
dress. The nobleman is distingaisbed from 
the gentleman, and he from the oommm- 
er, whose lot would not a{q)ear very de* 
mable to me, had he not also the ittdvantage 



<^ xeGiKauBg «einenil infcrkr d^^ 
IsB sank of niMiiirwfr. IThk put <sf itbe 
I umy be consideped in d ifttort. 
1 ^«r]f flp6ctoia i^imgB mety be 
said on tsodi "siifeft 4if tdie queMMi ; m «H 
is tMe in poUttcs, aeDorduig %o Ifae ftges of 
cmKcatiim, stad the character ^f ttatioa% 
the them of claH^oatioii itsrif it as good 
te flMMiaiii «• aoi J ether ; md « pcactkaU 
pjytrwnfiier, «i4o, m hit syateai seemo bmrm 
in the aibgectiiess of Epictetm wof the Pa- 
rk, and cannot eonoeive that their ootfvseiK 
6mmi dcgratteioQ can inflttenoe the d^ni^ 
ty of an derated apiiit, woold not pro^ 
baUy attach ntiHdi importance to this pue^ 
rile dttcussiaii ; but I OMifesa that the in- 
equality of coaditions «o indiBpensably im^ 
posed on Mxnal nan, so painfoUy hnmymt- 
ing to the natural man, «{]|)ears to me no 
where so misplaced as in the caf^ecsr of the 
sciences, and among students of independ- 
ent fortune who come, with equal rights, 
to draw instruction fr9m the same source. 



68 OXFOBD. 

It would seem that there, at least, the base- 
less fiction of equality would have taken 
refuge, if the spirit of dominaticm and the 
insatiable vanity of the higher classes of 
society could tolerate it any where. 

These details, however, will prevent no- 
body in France from considering Great 
Britain as the classical land of liberty and 
equality^ as long as this political nonsense 
keeps in fashion, along with a thousand 
other absurdities. I am convinced, how- 
ever, that if there be any other country 
where the national liberties are more close- 
ly and more severely circumscribed, where 
the shades of rank are marked in a more 
mortifying manner for the inferior classes^ 
it must be sought beyond all the limits of 
European civilization. Nothing so much 
resembles the rude essays of society as it$ 
test improvements^ 



69 



CHAPTER XII. 



FROM LONDON TO EDINBUEGH. 

York is a pretty town, agreeably situ- 
ated in the midst of a romantic country. 
Its cathedral passes, with good reason, for 
one of ^e finest inonuments of the inter- 
mediate architecture. Nothing can be 
more majestic as a whole, nor mpre strik- 
ing than its proporti(ms— which, in extent, 
assign it the second or third place amcmg 
the great churches of Europe— nor more 
elegant than its l<Hig lanciform * windows, 
fifty-seven feet high by five in breadth, 
nor, finally, more noble and more rich than 
its magnificent Oothic screen, the forepart 
of which is adorned with a series of statues 

* Set longuetftnHret en laneette* 



70 FBOM L019D0N TO EDINBURGH. 

of the Kings of England, beginning with 
William the Conqueror, and ending with 
Elizabeth. Ifhe i/fjkiB whoi shows these 
wonders to strangers, never fails to inform 
them, on their d^j^ture, that they will 
see nothing like it in the World ; and this 
patriotic hyperbole does not produce the 
ordinary effect of hyperboles— it does not 
shock you. 

BurhAm, Ae eaftttal^^ cS isb^ county et 
tiMit nattK^ IB- canracrarttdk to^ bo obs 0t iStfe 
poorest tewiMs in> Engboid. Htre, for f^ 
first ttecy we find beggars, aftsp a jcniriiey 
of 190^ teagttes; til^ a*e pretty children, 
who-mg, to one of fheseaatioiial mrs so^ 
miiSy monototidiifi, wMie» of prospevK 
ty to towiT d far s * A man^ tiSve* to l^e 
beauties^of ^U»»« andavl, i» i^«py §m:n^ 
mate ^dieur imprearibiL on MimisBot^alteP' 
mtdy » pKmftdi fetlii^ in- tkHMtcuvriiv yflmh 
elfe^QPwise ifi jpgttoresqwr aiMk 4elif^td\^. 
The^eye i^stmsok finmttfdfelfmeemtfrtbe 
aspect of its vast and superb cathedral. 



ratom xoHwm to biuhbcbiw. T1 

from wMck d»8ceMl» and unfbtds along 

the hommi a broadl semieiidf^ of wkke 

hoMes, BHxmountedwitbroo&of agjbEuriBg 

red ; bitJb our aHmiratwim imarMBes at the 

bold pass of FvaoGdingate bridge, tiirown 

flsooa one hill to the other, e^&f a gki^ «l 

the> bottom of whidi nms tho^riv^fbetmaeeii' 

laidshk^ Amies, it was< thvovj^ the 

davk walk of dir rrnnoua castle of Dur^* 

ham that, aceovdbag to most of the Seoleh 

ehfonkteS) Wallaoe forced }» way in the 

dretfr of # bard or troubadoury tO' eonfev 

with* Bobevt B9uce« 

The last temm o£ theoownty of OarlHMa 
is only separal^ed by a brid|goltom theftnn 
town^ofNovdnnnberhttid, whieh is-Nowoas*- 
tte^ {hiiK)iu» Id9 its: eastlo^ itis^gotliio chui^^ 
the original style cf which is peculiar to 
this building, and above all for its com- 
merce. You reach the siunmit of the steep 
hill onr whkh die prmcipal quartes of ibe 
town is built, by the longest, straightest^ 
and at the same time the steepest andmoa» 



72 FBOM LONDON TO EDINBURGH. 

perilous Street I ever saw in my life. The 
horses, accustomed to this surprising ef- 
fort, get through it with a very good grace. 
We now leave behind us the coal-*pits, and 
the blazing forges, and the smoky huts of 
the coal-heavers, and the famous market 
of Morpeth, and stop at Alnwick, before 
the marvellous fa9ade of . the castle of the 
Dukes of Northumberiand, which, as a 
whole, is one of the most singular that 
cfm be conceived. Its vast extent is crown- > 
ed with battlements, each of which bears 
the statue of a knight armed for battle, in 
the varied attitudes of combat This pre- 
cious monument of antiquity has been of- 
ten repaired, but with such exact fidelity, 
that it has lost nothing of its primitive 
physiognomy ♦. Lower down, a bridge, 

* The last reparations were made, I believe, about 
sixty years since, for they were recent in the time of Du- 
tens, about 1770. Hte says in his Itiksrart, whidi 
has often be^n reprinted, without becoming more com- 
mon, that he never saw any thing so magnificent a& Aln- 
wide castle. I am quite of this opinion^ 



FROM LONDON TO EDINBURGH. 73 

which is also of the middle ages, and equal- 
ly well preserved, crosses a pretty river, 
which waters delicious meadows. Not far 
from this was killed the valiant Douglas, 
by one df the two young Percys, both of 
whom were taken prisoners in the same 
battle. At a little distance, a cross, ele- 
vated on the right above the ascent, marks 
the last field of battle, and the bed of death 
of a warrior-king. It is the spot where 
Malcolm fell. Finally, you pass another 
river, you traverse a little town remarkable 
for its red houses, and its towering steeple; 
you are at Berwick, and on the territory 
of Scotland. The landscape, without ceas- 
ing to be rich, becomes more austere and 
more varied ; the ridges of the mountains 
appear sharper on the horizon, their pro- 
files are more rude, more whimsical ; ter- 
rible ravines cut the ground on each side 
of the road to a great depth. You see, 
successively, on the road, men walking in 
checked cloaks, children with blue woollen 

£ 



74 FEOM LONDON TO EDINBURGH. 

caps, young girls with straw hats, bare legs, 
lively and smiling faces, and Circassian 
eyes ; gipsies gravely smoking their pipes. 
Your attention is distracted from one spot 
to another, with agreeable objects, always 
new; picturesque pastures covered with 
frisking herds, wild, but superb ; fallows 
roughened with the golden sceptres of 
the broom, or decorated with the supple 
branches, and elegant festoons of the labiur- 
num. Further on, in the midst of a wood 
of gloomy firs, is the old castle of Douglas, 
and its Gothip bridge of one arch, thrown 
at the height of 122 feet above the tor- 
rent ; the romantic port of Dunbar ; Had- 
dington, with its pretty fields, and its ri- 
ver which rolls over rocks of granite. At 
length you arrive at the foot of a group of 
mountains, among which is distinguished 
Arthur's Seat^ or the throne of the Giant, 
and you enter Edinburgh. 

We went over a part of this road in the 
i%ht, but favoured by the almost unin- 



FROM LONDON TO EDINBUEGH. 75 

terrupted brightness of the polar light, in 
a climate where the light of the sun never 
leaves the sky entirely at this season, and 
when twilight only begins to vanish before 
the first glimpses of the dawn. 



e2 



76 



CHAPTER XIII. 



EDINBURGH. 

Independently of the political and lite- 
rary institutions which render Edinburgh 
one of the most interesting towns of mo- 
dern Europe, and the edifices, or the re- 
collections which give ifa title of rivality 
with the most celebrated cities of ancient 
Europe, it seems that the name of the 
Athens of the North, which nobody con- 
tests, is a privilege of locality founded on 
very striking topographical resemblances. 
The town of Edinburgh is separated from 
the sea by a straight road of the same 
figure and the same length as that which 
led from Athens to the Piraeus, which is 



EDINBURGH. 77 

here represented by the town of Leith. 
Within the city is a rock, surmounted by 
a fortress, or antique citadel, which brings 
to mind the Acropolis : this is Edinbur^ 
Castle. Having reached its majestic sum- 
mit, absorbed in I know not what senti- 
ments, I dreamt of nothing but Athens, 
and was looking for the Parthenon. 

At some distance rises another hill, also 
within the town, on which strangers go to 
visit the monument of Hume, or that of 
Nelson. From this spot, looking towards 
the castle, you are placed between two 
towns, perfectly distinct, equally remark- 
able; to the left, 'the old town, black and 
severe, like the buildings of a fort in the 
days of chivalry ; to the right, the new 
town, white and briUiant,like the enclosures 
of a palace. The houses are much higher 
than in Paris ; the streets much broader 
than in TiOndon ; almost all in a straight 
line, like those of Turin ; and some are a 
mile in length. Most of the houses, more* 

£3 



78 EDINBURGH. 

over, are built of a white stone, spoitiiftg 
witii mica ; and wfcen the mm strikes on 
theff spicakr spangles, one would suj^ose 
that the buildings were inlaid with dia- 
monds. 

We amved at Edinburgh on a Sunday, 
that is to say, on one of those dap of strict 
observance, when every house is closed, 
every sh<^ is impenetrable, and all the 
wcmW is at prayers. The solitude was im- 
mense, absolute ; and the first feelii^ we 
had of Edinburgh was, that this prodigious 
drty had been andently built by a race of 
gvantB who had long since disappeared from 
the earth. 

In vain would you seek in the oldiown 
of Edinburgh for the prison, more famous 
from an excellent novel than from history. 
The present prison b new, but in the an- 
cient taste, like almost all the buildings 
that are erected in Great Britain. Parfia- 
ment square is remarkable for a Tiad sta- 
tue of Charles II. which does not contri- 



EDINBURGH. 79 

bute to its ornament. The buildings just 
mentioned are far from being the most re- 
markable in Edinburgh : But I proceed in 
order, and Sir W. Scott, who has a consid- 
erable office in the court of justice, in the 
Parliamelit Hbuse, might have been there. 
Unfortunately he was liot arrived, and my 
journey was lost. We shall only see Scot- 
land. 

The High church is Gothic and ruin- 
ous, surmounted by a steeple also Gothic, 
but a little more mtwJem, the pyramid of 
which terminates hi '%' strange kind of 
crown. 

Prdth the top of the platform of the cas- 
tle the ey^ embtacfes a magnificent hori- 
zon. I felt very little curiosity to visit 
the interior of this fortress, whose mena- 
cing aspect is probably its greatest merit, 
and which seems to threaten with its fall 
the superb street called Prince's istreet, 
which extends along its base. Nor did I 
wish to examine the regalia or royal insig- 
E 4 



80 EDIKBUBGH. 

nia of the sovereigns of Scotland, recently 
discovered in a chamber that had been 
closed for more than a century. I found 
that my sensations lost much by being de- 
tailed. Wha,t I never was tired of ad- 
miring was the ensemble of this majestic 
town, the streets of which rivalling each 
other in extent and beauty, would how- 
ever at length oppress the imagination with 
the monotony of their symmetrical gran- 
deur, if this impression were not suspend- 
ed or modified from time to time, by the 
view of some conspicuous building, or some 
verdant, umbrageous square^ which sepa- 
rates them from each other. The pro- 
jected place of the circtiSy the form of 
which is indicated by the frame, and which, 
it is said, will be finished in three months, 
is worthy of Athens herself. 

The last hours of our stay concurred 
with a fortunate circumstance. However, 
it was neither the season of the Gaelic 
ball, nor the distribution of premiums for 



SBIKBUROH. 81 

the bagpipe. Some other motive, which 
I do not know, had brought to Edinburgh 
ten or a dozen chiefs of clans in all the 
pomp of their admirable costume. When 
you speak to the Parisians of the moun- 
taineers of Scotland, they see nothing but 
a red soldier without breeches encamped 
in the Bois de Boulogne. That is not the 
place to see the Scotch, God forbid ! but 
in Scotland. The chief of a Scotch clan, 
with his poniard and pistols, like a bucca- 
neer, his cadque cap, his cloak resembling 
Grecian drapery, his party-coloured hose, 
which, like all the stuffs of the country, 
recal to mind the tatooing of the ancient 
inhabitants, which they have thrown into 
oblivion, his club of laburnum bent back as 
the sign of his command, his savage demi- 
nudity, and, with all that, his noble and 
gentle mien, is a living tradition, pl^rhapt 
the only one in Europe, of our ages of 
strength and liberty. Though proud, and 
very proud of the dazzling beauty of their 
£ 5 



8f EDIKBUKGH. 

drets, tbej do not milk-^t)iey fl j, without 
locking at any thing, without stopping at 
wny thing ; and traverse towns like lions 
that have loi^ their way. In fact, they 
must feel there some painful sentiments. 
Their inhabitants were once free like 
themselves, but have precipitated them- 
selves under the yoke of associations and 
laws, in order to gratify their idleness and 
dieir cupidity. I can easily comprehend 
that the Highlanders must despise the 
breeches of the civilized man. Chains 
come after them. 



83 



CHAPTER XIV. 



HOLYEOOD. 



Holy ROOD is the ancient palace of the 
kin^ of Scotland in Edinburgh* It was 
founded by David I. in 1198. The con- 
struction of its admirable chapel must be 
of a somewhat later date. There repoflpe 
the remains ctf James II., James ¥., Henry 
Dfonley, and a multitude of others, dis- 
tinguished by their rank or their histori- 
cal character. In the midst of the ruins 
ftf this chapefl^ too much n^lected for the 
honour <rf the nation, rise tiro fragments cf 
ruins, singidar from fli^ir picturesque jrfiy^ 
Mognomy. They Ate the bases aiid first 
ktydrs ot tiro of those bundles of totumM 
e6 



84 HOLT^OOD. 

which support the vaults of ancient church- 
es, while they spread along at their Sum- 
mits. When terminated, at a moderate 
height, they represent to the eye the 
groups of black prisms in basaltic grottos. 
We were conducted into the apartments 
occupied by the French princes during 
some of the years of their long exile. 
There is something affecting in the sim- 
plicity of this royal dwelling. The only 
ornament which distinguishes it from the 
interior of an old castellated mansion^ is a 
pretty good collection of portraits of some 
Scottish nobles, and I know not how many 
beauties illustrated by the voUages amourt 
of Charles II. Some are from the pencil 
of Vandyke, and cited among his best 
productions; others belong to Mytens, 
his predecessor in reputation ; or to Ram* 
lay, one of his most able rivals. The 
chamber of the Duke d'^Angouleme, looks 
upon rude masses of rocks, a view which 
at times was fully equivalent to that of a 



HOLYROOD. 86 

throne. I have had no occasion for convers- 
ing with the great respecting their recollec- 
tions of the residence of the Bourbons^ but 
it has left a profound impression of com- 
passion and respect in the people ; and I 
say it, because it is true. 

This apartment, this palace recals to 
mind moreover other misfortunes. What 
a subject for historical meditation — the 
Bourbons taking refuge in the tragical pa- 
lace of the Stuarts ! One breathes there, 
if I may be allowed the expression, I know 
not what atmosphere of solemn disasters 
which augments from age to age. Pity 
must entirely have disappeared from the 
earth if she did not return to weep over 
such deep sorrows. A picture which re- 
presents the family of Charles I. after his 
execution, was the first object which, on 
his rising, struck the eye of the brother of 
Lewis XVI. 

It is but a step from this part of the 
palace to that which was occupied by the 



86 HOLTHOOD. 

unfortunate Mary. Here I enwrap my^ 
self in some of the strongest impressions 
df my heart. All the detiuls of this apart- 
ment have been preserved with religious 
exactness. It is untouched in its grand 
and in its miserable appearances. You 
see no other modifications in the state of 
the furniture, the carpets, the paintings, 
the hangings, but what are the necessary 
w<H*k of tune. They are l^yal rags, which 
would still have their splendour, if the in- 
sects had req)ected them as much as men. 
In the first chamber is Mary^s bed, her arm- 
chairs, her sofas, on which she had em- 
broidered the cipher of her first husband ; 
even the wo^k-basket <m which her bettuti* 
ful hand had sooften leai^ ; evM her dfes^ 
sing box. One might expect to be showti 
the c^own of M^-y Stewart, or heir iMr- 
riage ring in a tiak trinket^box, but die^ 
imagination is not prepared fo^ the si^t 
of her work-table or her distitf . The se- 
cond room is also a Yfed-ehatnbet^ in which 



fiOLYllOOB. 8T 

the bed, irith dander post», ccfvered by a 
-poot pmk Btuff) is accompanied by high 
chatirs in the form of stalls of a singular 
flhi^. An old hanging of that time, 
raised up in one part, allows a sight of two 
narrow doors, one by which Damley came 
in with his assassins to surprise Rizzio, 
the other, that of a closet where they con- 
cealed Uiemselves. The lance and heavy 
armour of Henry StUart are still shown. 
We then returned by the same way and 
left the first bed-chamber by a dark long 
vestibule, which we had not remarked on 
Altering. A deep stain of blood marks 
the spot where Rizzio received his, mortal 
wound, and other stains, irregularly traced 
in confused patches on the floor, show the 
efforts of his useless struggles. I do not 
know if the sensation is peculiar to myself, 
but I have nevCT seen any thing compara- 
ble to this theatre of one of the most bloody 
tragedies of modem history, with all its de- 
corations, even to the stains of blood. 



88 HOLYROOD. 

which have remained there without being 
effaced, like that of Duncan on the fingers 
of Lady Macbeth. It is worth obiserving 
that nothing is more difficult to efface than 
blood. It is the testimony which always 
rises against the murderer ; out of a hun- 
dred accusations of homicide, there is not 
a single one in which it does not serve as 
an indication. It even cries out in the 
presence of history and of posterity. The 
floors of Holyrood have drunk the blood 
of Rizzio through and through. It will 
never be washed out. 

The recollection of Mary Stuart is as 
lively at Holyrood as if she had been be* 
headed yesterday at Fotheringay. In fact, 
the vestiges of her existence are in every 
part. In the chapel we saw the insulated 
nook where her confessional was placed. 
Her picture is in the long gallery of the 
portraits, historical, traditional, or fabu- 
lous, of the kings of Scotland, for even 
Fergus is not forgot. It is reproduced in 



HOLYBOOD. 89 

all the galleries, in all the chambers, and 
often several times ; there is one in parti- 
cular, where the portrait of the young 
princess, embellished with all the pomp of 
her nuptials with the young king of 
France, exhibits a strange contrast with 
the portrait of the bride of Bothwell. 
This last picture is surprising, from I 
know not what illusion of ideal resem- 
blance, which answers exactly to a combi- 
nation of features and expression which 
one has formed withput knowing it, or 
which one has guessed. Mary Stuart still 
appears a queen, but above all, a woman ; 
the deep play of her look, the perceptible 
thickness of her lips, the voluptuousness 
of the countenance, half surrendering, half 
enticing, reveal more secrets to my imagi- 
nation than cotemporary history. I wish 
Schiller could have seen this portrait, or 
that Shakespeare could have treated the 
subject. In an adjoining room is a fine 



90 HOLYHOOD. 

portndt of Damley, of the Dutch school. 
He is as thin as a spectre, but well made, 
tall, audacious, terrible. One may easily 
conceive the power of such a phantom over 
the feeble organization of a woman. 

The respectable dame who led us 
through the palace added another illusion 
to all the rest in this singular spectacle. 
Her age, her antiqite and noble costume, 
her language, which was difficult for us, 
^ttd every now and then wises still xtiott 
unintelligible tind solemn, from an in'tw^ 
ttiixture of old Scotch, the religious gra- 
vity erf her narrations, broken from time 
to time with pathetic exclamations, all 
gaVis us the idea of one of the attendants 
of the unfortunate Mary, condemned per- 
haps for some culpable complaisance to 
come and show to curious strange**s for 
ages to come a spot which recals to her 
mind both remorse and punishment. In 
truth, I do not believe this. 



HOLY&OOD. 91 

On our way home we stopt before a 
house which bears the name of Milton, 
and had just been rebuilt. The proprie- 
tor did not find it sufficiently commodious. 



CHAPTER XV. 



FROM EDIKBUEGH TO GLASGOW. 

There is a. time of life when we no long^ 
cr exert, on all that surrounds us, that 
power of sensibility which drags along, 
which domineers, which makes us fear, 
and, above all, makes us love ; a time when, 
notwithstanding the soul, still energetic^ f 
still young, preserves in the sole possession 
of its recollections something delicious, . 
which only manifests itself in the calm of 
entire solitude. My heart palpitated with 
joy at the idea of arriving without a guide, 
and without companions, on the borders of 
the lakes of Caledonia, among a people 
who do not even Understand EngUsh, and 



EDINBURGH TO GLASGOW. 93 

which I only know myself enough to obtain, 
by means of ridiculous circumlocutions 
and extravagant gestures, the contrary of 
what I want. This extraordinary situa- 
tion has something imperious, which reno- 
vates life, and I have often experienced it 
in my travels. It was this which made me 
desirous to separate for some days from 
my friends, and to exist in my own sensa- 
tions, while theirs were communicated and 
lost in each other. A new country, a new 
appearance of nature and of manners, is for 
four men a sight—for one man it is a 
conquest. 

t ^ The solitude of a Frenchman in Scot- 
land is the more complete, as the know- 

* ledge of the dead languages is, as I have 
said elsewhere, very rare, if, indeed, it ex- 
ists at all. Nothing is more difficult than 
to find an Englishman of the present ge- 
neration, and of the lower classes, who 
knows Latin, which every body knew an 
hundred years ago, and I had the morti- 



94 l^DH^BUBGH TO GLASGOW. 

fication to be convinced of it even among 
the booksellers, who are necessarily very 
learned. This singularity is easily ex- 
plained, however, by the fatal vogue of 
the deplorable methods of Bell and Lan- 
caster, which have reduced all the in- 
ferior part of society to a superficial and 
coarse education, and have substituted a 
ridiculous mechanism in the place of the 
genius of teaching *. However, these me- 
thods are much more appropriated to the 
institutions and moral character of Great 
Britain than to ours. They may, at least, 
produce boxers in logic and spouters at 
taverns, but they never will produce a dis- 
tinguished character. Is it not, moreover, 
remarkaUe, that for a great many years 
past no distinguished literary character 



* I attest, on my conscience, that this opinion is not 
in the least detennined by my political opinions. Ho^ 
nest men of all parties will agree as to the indecency and 
absurdity of mutual instruction, whenever it has ceased 
to be a party measure. 



EDI)]BUB6H TO GLASGOW. 95 

has sprung up from the class of the people 
in England ? Under our ancient system 
of education, so loudly condemned, the 
son of a butcher of Milan becmne the pre- 
ceptor of kings ; the son of a wine-mer- 
chant of Amiens was the delight of the 
court ; and the university at a later period 
found recruits among the cutlers of Lan- 
gres, as the academy did among the bra- 
ziers of Auvergne and the hatters of Ly- 
ons. Polyhymnia confided her lyre to a 
shoemaker, who would have been called 
to every social distinction had he been a 
virtuous man. Great noblemen disputed 
the advantage of lodging a workman of 
Geneva, a great enemy of all power, but 
a man of eloquence and feeling.^ Look at 
England at present, with thh philosophical 
and liberal education, which peojde extol 
without knowing why, or rather because they 
do not yet know that it is neither liberal 
nor phUosophicah There is not an indi- 
vidual wcardiy to be cited in the higher 
5 



96 EDINBURGH TO GLASGOW. 

departments of literature, (I beg Southey's 
pardon if he is not noble, and I did not 
inquire ;) not one remarkable man, I say, 
who is not a lord or a baronet ; and only 
let the same system be once established 
among us, and you may seek in vain for 
genius among the helots of modern socie- 
ty. To find a man of talent, it will be 
necessary to brush by a Swiss, and to 
traverse an anti-chamber. Fortunately 
we are not yet got so far. 

What singular contradictions are there 
not in the nature and mind of man ! You 
have heard our philosophers in Paris say, 
that humanity is indebted to the Scotch 
for two great blessings, (the second of 
which I really believe,) mutual instruction, 
and vaccination. You leave France; you 
arrive in Scotland ; you visit the nation in 
its most enlightened towns ; and you find, 
not without astonishment, that almost 
every body has had the small-pox, and 
that hardly any body knows how to read. 



97 



CHAPTER XVI. 



GLASGOW. 



The compilers of cosmographical noti- 
ces generally mention Glasgow as the best 
built town in Europe. I should agree 
widi them if I had not seen Edinburgh. 
Nevertheless, the streets traced on the left 
bank of the Clyde, on a magnificent plan, 
promise one day to rival Edinburgh itself; 
and the day is not far distant, if the pro- 
gress of this fine town continues in the 
same proportion. It appears from authen- 
tic dociunents that, in 1610, it had only 
7644 inhabitants, and that, in 1801, they 
only amounted to 84,000. At present 
there are above 160,000. It has therefore 



98 GLASGOW. 

gained 140,000 inhabitants in about 200 
years, and more than 60,000 in less than 
twenty. This increase is perhaps a phe- 
nomenon withput e^umjiiB in statistics. 

The right bank was for a long time the 
only one that was built upon. It contains 
several superb streets and squares, as Ar- 
gyle street. Queen street, George^s square, 
in which is the statue of Sir John Moore ; 
builiiljqga>. of indifferent taste, but of fine 
eff(ac|t, ,md particailarly abaadsome theatre. 
Amoi^gi tb#. religious buildingsy. aft?r 
tbe cafthfdfal which deserves particular 
noti^. tb^ oeXy one mentioned is the Ga* 
thoUc (^1^^ of whidh the inhahitwts of 
G^Nie^w are v^ proud^ thoygh it is of 
thatr^ie^wed gpthio so common in Bog* 
lmd>.wl^i» almost always dtf(^ye,,aod 
h^e^.partieuUud^ in tbe hannwy of the 
d(at«4l$j; aod< whkh w.e$M h»: infinilely 
mwei]|t€festitg;iftthe Ei^g^hftdja^w. 
aiyhtieots.with aa^xeAoed a taateJMmostof 
thftireagntYers^ aod.soMe of theirt paint* 



GLASGOW. 99 

cm ThiB view fW)m New bridge^ which 
leads to the new town, has something en^ 
chanting; It would put me in mind of 
that fh>m the Pont^s^JHs at Paris, were 
not its bimks of so fresh a verdure, and if 
the river, over which it is majestically 
thrown^ did not disappear under a multi- 
tude of vessels. When you look nearer, 
and' consider the people covered with dra- 
peries^f lively and varied colours like those 
of Madras«>*-the gypsies bending over the 
stteam^ and looking at the water, while 
they are smoidbng rolls of tobacco, not of so 
dark^ a colour as their browned mahogany 
skin— the light bridge which runs to theori- 
ental horizon like an arch of reeds— and 
above idl, the numerous steeples raised on 
cubieai stories, which rise smaller and smalls 
er one dbove another, like some minarets-^ 
you think yourself transported to the east 
As Glasgow is still less frequented and 
less known by all the inhabitants of the 
Continent than Edinburgh — for in Europe 



100 GLASGOW. 

it is almost only the English who travd 
for the sake of travelling, the ancient man- 
ners and customs have been much better 
preserved, especially among the women, 
who every where else give the example of 
instability and of the love of change, at 
least in fashions. The women of Glasgow 
have generally and judiciously kept the 
old Scotch cloak, which is exceedingly 
well appropriated to the rigorous climate 
of the country. This doak, which is ex- 
ceedingly like the Venetian domino, is 
pretty often of a dark woollen cloth of Ut- 
tle show. The most elegant are of that 
pretty tartan stuff which was fancied for 
some time by the ladies of Paris. The 
most common are of a dazzling red, the 
eCect of which, produced by an associa^ 
tion of ideas not necessary to explain, ap- 
peared horrible to me above two bare legs. 
The women of the lower classes, almost all 
those of the middhng, and a considerable 
jiumber of those of the higher classes, go 



barefooted. Some bat^^ ddo^d ^pipifi^ 
ly. The fashionable ladies who have 
adopted the Parisian dress, have also bor- 
rowed the shape of their shoes, though 
in reality they are more like those of men ; 
but this part of their accoutrements is what 
incommodes them the most, and is what 
they throw off with most pleasure when 
they are at liberty. A brilliant Scotch 
Belle has hardly exhausted the admiration 
of the jftuhioniMes in Glasgow, when she 
longs for solitude ; and the first thought 
which occupies her in some bye-path, some 
solitary garden, or in the mysterious ob- 
scurity of her chamber, is not, as with us, 
the recollection of the last man who looked 
at her with a sigh, or the last woman who 
eclipsed her toilet ; it is the impatient want 
of taking off her shoes and stockings, and 
to run with bare feet on the carpet, the 
turf, or the sand of the high road. The 
^ght of these bare feet is hardly ever dis- 
f8 



iO^ \ / : : : ip|:<4S60w. 

:£UstiQg^*jei^ 4^M '^ peppte, nor is 
diere any thing in it .piuaful to -ABOsibility, 
when we see them sprt^ading out on .the 
smooth flags cf the broad foot^way^ in 
.Glasgow. Those that have shoes do not 
lock near so well. The ;flat and bcoad 
form of the shoes> with buckles orrstviiigs, 
does not at all eonceal the sise i>f theibot^ 
which no doubt is very oonfoinnable to ths 
natural proportions^ especially in a nation 
where nothing has impeded the j&ee)dom(0f 
aoaotion for a long series of agcA^ hat mbkii 
is shocking to ow* eyes, accusteoned to ^tbe 
f<M:ced exiguity of ^ feet of P*e»ch wo- 
men^ which^ in thi^ setf^t^ hdd ^Jcmdi^ 
medium between lhe£ci^tch m^ the Chi- 
nese. Thie loot oC tbe «noiint«neer, iles- 
!tined U> press on narrow, abjyery, ste^ 
i^ts, OY^tt of cottrse to be broad ;and 
«tro(]g. Feet which are amaJL out of aII 
{vroporti^sa^ aise a beauty oi the ipuioirf 
whi^xisa^Gsij be ^prefiiaited iby pcsvsons 



6LA8&0W. 103 

condemned by their Infirmities, or reduced 
by their own choice, to see the world only 
through a window, and travel over it in a 
carriage. . 



f4 



104 



CHAPTER XVII. 



THE CATHEDEAL. 



The cathedral of Glasgow, elevated 
above the steep street called High street, 
but on the other side of the hill which 
commands it, often escapes the eye of the 
traveller, who, besides, little expects to find 
so ancient and so striking an edifice in a 
town, the prosperity of which is so recent, 
and whose increase dates from so short a 
time. It is, in fact, the only building 
which attests that the city of Glasgow al- 
ready enjoyed the recollections of ancient 
prosperity at the period when it began to 
be enlarged by its commerce and manufac- 
tures. The construction of this church is 



THE CATHEDRAL. 105 

said to have been begun in the first half of 
the 12th century; and the style of its 
architecture, which is that of the age when 
the introduction of the painted arch took 
place, and when its angles, afterwards so 
lofty, then only exhibited a feeble break 
in the centre, seems in reality to indicate 
an epoch mot nearer to us. The vast ex- 
tent of the building, the bold elevation of 
the pyramidal steeple, the dark and so^ 
lemn tone of the walls, the noble and sim- 
ple character of the smooth masses and 
unadorned lines, are indebted for a stilt 
more majestic impression to the choice of 
the solitary situation of which I have en- 
deavoured to give an idea. The aspect 
of this edifice, almost foreign to the city, 
from which it' is not seen, puts one in mind 
of those ancient temples, built at a time 
when the profane inclosure of cities was 
not deemed worthy of containing the house 
of the Lord, and when the sacred courts 
around the church had na other dwellings 
F 6 



106 THE CATHEDBAL. 

but tbe olent maniuons of the« detd. 
Tomb^ move car leas •ncient, moce or kss 
^n^wmotedi vw^n^^^^^Bi the most ttixqf^ 
tcmbi^one ^p to the sarcofrfiagus and the 
obeUskf of which some are suitounded with 
aa iron raihngy and the greatest i&umber ]&. 
doeed with borders of flowers, and croimed 
with cool shadesi) cover in every part the 
cbmdi-yard, which will hoMltiomore. Whm 
y^Mi behold this spectade dui&og the xa^t, 
aU these snow-wUte warble mcHuiaietttSy 
fUlteriag on &e dark green of the grav^ 
wd the hUsk ground of the walks, re- 
s^dbte spectres cidkd together l^ the iBod- 
night hellf and waiting for the dawn of 
day to sink back into their coffins. Be- 
hind the cathedral stretches mx a k>Bg hill, 
0n which it seems to bear, and which aug- 
m^Mts the severity of the picture by the 
dismai Ibdour ot its verdure, md the py« 
ramidal shape of its evargreens, which 
point io the skies like the other obelisks in 
m^siOiy erf the departed, tod prolong. 



THE CATHEDRAL. 107 

through a profound perspective, the image 
and the thought of the tombs. Two hand- 
some buildings, placed in the environs, do 
not dimiidsh tM3 impression. They are 
lonely ; the whole space which surrounds 
them is uninhabited ; and they might be 
taken for particular monuments erected on- 
ly out of a more pompous vanity. It is 
oeoe^sftry to una^ mme w^y ^cmatdB Glas- 
gow, t6 ite&tk the Mismit of the bright^ 
vai see ^ %mdkte ef th^ ictt^ tlmsaefB of 
dMfe fcuMifiuMt^^ b wek^ td«etiffA totiie 
dottnteteiiflifie. ltte]:^<t«9^da^f&iQiigini{^ 
with the iftMls^ 1%^ unth ^KwiQii%, with 

the t^vdier, ^o AtH M^k tOk the iMdks 
at the Glyd6 for the |K>etfeal tf^odAeetSs^m 
which Aew me th(ere, fibaU fii»l neither 
Gry9gow, nor its tttaiiuAu:l7iu:«s, ii6r iu 
todriM; £Q(r evei^ li^ of mM on die 
MTth ^s, mm ^ V«f8ti^e6 off hiB ctodi. 

f6 



108 



CHAPTER XVIIl. 



THE BOXERS. 



- I SHALL not describe the shocking fights 
of the boxers, more common even in Scot- 
land than they are . in England. These 
exercises, very disgusting when they are 
only mercenary sports, have aQ the horror 
of an execution, when the hatred of the 
two parties makes them deadly duels. 
Chance forced me to undergo the sight of 
one of these cruel spectacles in the beauti- 
ful promenade of Glasgow. I had not 
time to turn away my eyes, when it would 
already have been impossible to placje a 
shiUing on the body of these wretches 
without touching blood. The cries of box 
from the populace, the ferocious attention 



THE BOXERS. 



109 



of the spectators, the methodical cahn of 
the officious seconds, who enlarged the 
circle frcwoa one moment to another, the 
exclamations which marked the blows, the 
heart-rending groans of a woman in des- 
pair, the more suppressed, but not less 
profound grief of a father, all was fright- 
ful and terrible. At length they both fell 
senseless at once. I do not know if they had 
life enough left to cry for mercy. 

I walked sorrowfully homewards along 
the delicious banks of the Clyde, which I 
had just followed, absorbed in charming 
ideas on the happiness of nations, whose 
institutions and manners are still close to 
nature ; but this scene of barbarians had 
strangely distracted me from my happy il- 
lusions. Halfvexation on thinking of my 
dis^pointed theories, half compas^on in 
reflecting on the destiny of man, I felt a 
tear moisten my eye-Uds, I put my hand 
to my pocket and found they had stole my 
handkerchief. 



no 



CHAPTER XIX, 



CALEDOKIA. 

CaledmcamI Calxaoioam! Wfaat 
Koc^ketieiui, whattinpressiniaiiilheiiame 
of tlie &ttt poeticil ceuntry^ whose imi« 
Uant kiqpirftdoBf^ tiie direction of my stu- 
dies permitted me to kam I Hene> aU is 
BAtmwl, grand, BaUime^ all bears die cba* 
racter of sdemn, unalterable antiquHy* 
The maaneiB of Ihis pec^i^ their dress, 
dieir language even, are pUdtt from mix* 
ture like themselves; and (4 jdemark mth- 
out exoeptkm,) whcKever the onginBl, or 
at least die immemorial language has be^ 
preserved, th<9ne is still a nalicm, becaiMe a 
nation is a language. Ther^ wiU never 



CALEDONIA. Ill 

agttn be Bomans, but the Farthenoa may 
one day rise from its r^ns^ if Lord EJgin 
has left any. 

I set out from Glasgow at six in the 
mormng, on the 28th of Jime, with 4e- 
ligirtful weather* The sky, however, was 
fKJi 80 paf ect^ clear bi^ what one could 
see here and there some passing douds, 
the aspect of whidi, moreover, verified a 
conjecture I made formerly. This wafiii 
that the different kinds of vapours which 
rise bom lid^es, from riv^:*8, and frcHn the 
sea, reflecting the light of the sky, or be* 
oomii^ iiaqirinted with the «badows of die 
mcnuitains, and all varying amoi^ each 
o&er in volume, d^eisity, and odour, are 
kiinitely more suse^tiUe of ferming 
images than ihe monotonoiss elouds of our 
contin^its, whidb ioat widiout any riK)ck 
or Accidents on regular surfoees. The my- 
tbol6gy of Ossian is neoesiMurily founded on 
physical probabilities, like all mythdogies ; 
and while I was taking this note, I thought 

4 



112 CALEDONIA. 

I beheld Malvina leaning over her harp, 
letting loose to the winds the wavy silk of 
her locks. I felt that it would be easy to 
discover in these caprices of the atmos- 
phere all the shades of my forefathers, but 
why look for them ? That of my father is 
not there, and arrested over the narrow 
spot of the exile where he left me, it inha- 
bits other clouds which will never more 
pass over my head. 

The first miles out of Glasgow are nei- 
ther more nor less beautiful than the finest 
part of the banks of the Saone. You be- 
hold well cultivated plains, stocked with 
elegant dwellings or rich manufactories, 
the horizon of which is only varied by the 
vaporous sinuosities of some hills. At the 
distance of nine miles the Clyde enlarges 
in an extraordinary manner. The ruins 
of the old church of St. Patrick hang over 
its course with a piece of wall out of the 
perpendicular, the equilibrium of which 
astonidies the traveller. Farther on the 



CALEDONIA. 113 

austere rocks of Dunbarton terminate the 
prospect, and resemble a vast natural 
cupola of which the river is the avenue. 
By little and little they open, advance, and 
discover to the eye that basaltic mass so 

, striking, and at the same time so strange, 
which incloses between two enormous side 
walls, divided by a percussion that can 

. only be attributed to the most ancient re- 
volutions of the globe, the most dismal 
castle with which feudality ever terrified 
the eyes of nations. Groups of red sol- 
diers, who throw their looks down its de- 
solate depth, from the top of the fortifica- 

. tions, render this spectacle still more pain- 
ful to the eyes and heart of a traveller who 
cherishes liberty. It was at Dunbarton 
that it was, first of all, thought of con- 
fining Napoleon; a circumstance which 
removes this fortress from us by the whole 
diameter of a world ; and when I thought, 
as I ran on the iron strand which sepa- 

.rat^s the rock on which it is founded from 



114 CAliSDOKIA. 

the ixia)«itic caurse of tbe Clyde, diat this 
nvervraB the XJhdhOy this xnountain the 
BdldsttfyDt oi OmascLj this onoient Xxjmtk die 
MiduiSut ci Bede; that it was there that 
Carthoti hnd reigiied, and 4he 'tovely 
daughter ef C^thmol had sighed ; i^en 
my mind rested on the monun^nts ctf a 
nearer erpedh, on the Tock of ihesui^Mttte 
of OftiHb^n) and %he trhnophd t^wm: of 
Wallace; when Lembracedata^^ttinoe the 
Testiges of the j^ssageof so many ages, mA 
asm opening 'befbre me 'the poetical emph^ 
of ithe CaledoBoan bards, of whom ^MaMuika 
is &e flimn, I could ^h difficuky bave 
guarded myself agakist a retum ^of tbe^^Ei- 
thusiasm which I idt at twemy. £v«ry 
thi^ 9eoRls to mind at IDisdbeniKm ^e 
|iroud independenoe of n pmoi&ve pe(^le ; 
the cboioe 0I an inaccessible position sudi 
asawarlilpe tribe Would select, with ^tie 
asyi^terious forms of their melancholy 
iN9%i€m. Faujas de Simat-Fond, says, 
f Voyage tn Angleierre et en Eoesscy p« 



CALEDONIii. 115 

2, toiQ. 1.) "I do not know how Pen- 
nant, speaking of this rock, could say it 
was of an astonishing height, I found that 
it was at most only S60 feet.*" I think I 
can perfectly guess the reason of this dif- 
ference. It is marked by the entire dis- 
tance which exists between a man of feel- 
ing and a mere academician. Pennant 
yielded to an impression, Faujas took a 
meamixement, 

I dcgaarted, not withnit dften ImBDng 
my eyes back omJlalduiba, for it ^was oio 
loiiger Dunbarlon, and I was atill caUing 
up the shades of ancient mansaoim and sf 
ancient ipoeti^ wh^i aidfty cohunn to ibe 
left seemed to indicate a tomb. I ap- 
proached-*-! read— *and threw widi iseqpect 
some wild flowers which I had just stolen 
from the ancient dwelling of the hards, od 
the stone consearobed to the memory of 
one t^ their heirs. It wafi the mmument 
of SmoUfitt 



116 



CHAPTER XX. 



LOCH-LOMONIX. 



The first remarkable point which my 
itinerary pointed out was Dun-Ficmy or the 
Moimtain of Fingal, which preserves some 
vestiges of an ancient encampment of that 
hero. Further on extends Rushy-Dale, 
famous for Ihe bloody encounter of the 
Colquhouns and McGregors, about the 
be^ning of the 17th century. Loch- 
. Lomond began to display itself to the 
right, and decorated an immense horizon 
with the incredible variety of its aspects. 
Let not the reader expect from me the 
impossible effort of delineating it* Who, 
with cold ink and sterile words, could im- 



LOCH-LOMOKD. 117 

press on the mind and heart of others, 
emotions, at which one is astonished one- 
self, and which one no longer conceived 
oneself capable of experiencing? Who 
could describe this mediterranean of the 
ndountains, covered with islands, idl vari- 
ed in their forms and character; some- 
grave, majestic, covered with black shades 
confounded with the colour of the water, 
(for the lakes of Caledonia are still the 
black lakes of Ossian ;) others still more 
dismal, more austere, showing here and 
there on their surface some naked ledges, 
occa^onally distinguished by some whim- 
sical reflections of light or some tufts of 
rock flowers; the greater number dis- 
playing verdant banks, delightful groves, 
clumps of elevated trees, placed like great 
masses of shade on the silky green of the 
turf, a delicious pleasure-ground, into 
which the soul transports itself with ra^ 
vi^hment, and whose eloquent beauty 
speaks to the heart of all mankind P I 



118 LOCH^LOMOXItt 

saw a peasant motibnlesi^ ui. frtmt of Uie 
lake^ his eyes fixed upon it, his mind ab- 
soibfid) to all appearance^ in a profound 
meditation. I: went near him, and this dis- 
turbed his 1 contemplation. He looked at 
me {or a moment, sighed, and, lifdng'his 
hands^to heaven/exclaimed^— ^ne coi^ntr^^f 
Loch-Lomond, says the excellent itine- 
rary of Chapman, may be considered for 
ek^nce, grandeur, and variety of sites 
and views, as the most interesting^ and 
most magnifioeit in Gbeat Britain. I, 
who have travelled over many countries, 
consider it to be €me of the most interest- 
u% and mi^(nifice»t sights in nature ; and 
I flatter myself dmt I can bring any one* 
of my readers to be of the same opnion, 
thmi^ he dunild be the least sennbk to 
this kind; of beauty, without emplojring 
any of the illusH)ns<if hyperbolical exag- 
geraticmi Let him represent to himsdf a 
lake, on which are reckoned thirty-two 
islands— -a great number of which are seve- 



I^QCH^LOMOKD. 119 

nd mil^ in l^gthr-*the horizon of which 
is coiifU)9ed can every side by a <£ain of 
mountain^ some of whieh are, moBe: than: 
500 tdiseftin height To this simple to- 
pofpiaphieal foot, let him add the ^eot.of 
a vazied. yegetation, always dianning or 
sublime; of the accidents of light and- 
shade in the circuits of those pootcfand^ 
glenS) where the sun appears and^ disap* 
pears e^^ry instant^ as he passes behind 
the mountains which embrace tircm; the 
whimsical" appearances of the vx^urs* 
which hang on their summit^ in.acomitry 
whichhas omseerated, if one may say so, 
the nqrthology of the clouds; tile singular 
noises^f theedioes, "vvhieh transmit toeagh 
oQier^ at infitnte distances, the lightestru^ 
mour of the lightest wave, and wbieh^ 
finally bring to your ear I know not what 
hannonious tremor, like that which dies 
away intbe last vibration of • the string of 
a^harp^ the tradition of the earliest agesv 
and with it the names of Ossian, of Fin- 



120 LOCH-LOMOND. 

gal, of Oscar, who have come down with 
the memory of their actions and their 
songs to all the inhabitants of these shores, 
as living almost as those of heroes of a 
more recent epoch, as that Rob Roy hipi- 
self, by whom the Caledonian, when affect- 
ed with some sudden surprise, or deep 
subject of fear, swears at this day as the 
Latins did by Hercules. In short, I have 
not reckoned in this enumeration three 
wonders of Loch-Lomond, which the boat- 
men never forget to remark : the floating 
islands, the waves without wind, and the 
fish without fins. This fish, which is very 
common, and is sometimes eat in the coun- 
try, and which has been taken by some tra- 
vellers for a viper, is a very innocent 
snake, the coluber natrix, if I am not mis- 
taken. 

The ancients gave Loch-Lomond the 
pretty name of lAfncalidory formed from 
the Gaelic Hyn^eJydcUdurf (water of 
the shady mountains.) The name of 



LOCH-LOICOMO. 121 

Lomond comes from the highest and most 
singular of its mountwis, Ben Lomond, 
remarkable for the cone entirely bare 
which crowns it. Llwnumwy signifies the 
Bald Mountain. Sir W. Scott has been 
happily inspired by these delicious land- 
scapes ; but what poet would not have been 
inspired by the Lyn4:alidor f and what pic- 
turesque site would not have inspired the 
brilliant Ossian of modem Scotland ? It 
ts only such scenery that could give birth 
to such poetry. 



m 



CHAPTER XXI. 



LU95. 

Teavellkes generally stop at Lioas 
which is tlie Lutha of Os^ao, and about 
half way from Glasgow to Inverary. From 
thence, one may visit the islands on the -5> 
lake; and this is the usual object of parties 
of pleasure from the north of England, 
I dined there in a room where the travel- 
lers who are attracted to this admirable 
region seldom fail to write their names on 
the wall and wainscot. I found only one 
French name, and it was my own. Fif- 
teen years ago such a circumstance would 
have made me have sweet dreams. What 
friend could have been thinking of me 



1IT8S. I2S 

«Dong the mountains of Scotland; and 
why did he neglect to trace his own name 
by the side of mine ? I oannot express 
how this idea delighted me, how it peopled 
diis country, and God knows that it wants 
It! The certainty of a human thought 
having been fixed upon me in these de- 
ierts, gave some^iiog additiohal to the en- 
dtantmentsdT their solitude and silence. 
1 went on twelve miles farther without 
hearing any other noise then the motion 
of the lake, which has waves without windy 
without seeing any living creature but a 
l^^d^ of the form of a snipe, but as small 
again, which flies whistling on the strand 
fnmi one stone to another, leaps about, 
turns its head, and disappears like a shot. 
But I fc^get ; I saw a woman with a most 
lovely and regular countenance, only a 
little pale. Her hair was turned up under 
one of those straw hats which were in 
fashion in Paris when I left it, but which 
I could not name. She had a Scotch 
o 2 



15!4 X.USS. 

gown, dean and simple, like all the peat- 
»ant women, bare legs, «nd e nselanchol j 
and soft eye. Her two children came after 
her to show her the traveller. I looked 
round for 4i house, but oould only perceive 
a hut, consisting of some hundreds of 
stones, heaped up with little expense, to 
defend three poor creatures agidnst the 
fury of the winds, the weight of the snow, 
and th^ cold. 

What astonished me above all, was to 
find a road well kept, elegant as the walks 
in the pleasure-grounds of the rich. It 
seems laid out expressly to give to travel* 
lers who are particular, the delight of a 
commodious and almost voluptuous amphi- 
tiieatre for the representation of the most 
solemn scenes in nature. I was arrived at 
that graceful and picturesque slope, at 
that charming and sublime situation, per- 
haps unrivalled on the earth, called Fir- 
kin's Point, and from which, with a glance, 
you may run over the multiplied inclo- 



LC8S. 1^ 

8ures formed by the mountains round the 
numerous gulfs of the lake, like so many 
immense saloons of verdure, admiring^ 
their magnificent decorations in compart- 
ments of crystal. 



a8 



im 



CHAPTER XXJL 



TABBET. 

I WAS ten days too late for the botanic 
cal excursion of Dr. Hooker, the learned 
professor of Glasgow, to whom I had been 
recommended by the kindness of Bory de 
Saint- Vincent, and whose kind receptim 
of me will afford lasting recollections 
of gratitude. Provided with the itinerary 
he had traced for me, and with his recom- 
mendations, I was to stop at Tarbet with 
the good Coll Walker. In no part does 
Loch Lomond display more magnificence ; 
in no part does Ben Lomond, which com- 
mands it, and which they call the king of 
hills f appear more majestic. After having 



TABBET. 127 

followed these delicious banks for twenty 
miles, one feels agaki at Tarbet a new sen- 
timent of admiration. The sieur Faujas 
de Saint Fond, whose mailable heart never 
palpitated but for marble, himself felt the 
effect of this local seducdon, so well de« 
scribed in some charming vemes by Rus- 
sel, << The superb Loch Lomond,^ sayshe^ 
^ is a natinraliBt who is ^akkig and not 
a t>9et, tfiough one might «a»fy mnke the 
Qiisteke,) <<liie beanitiful «u&^ne whidi 
gSbied its waters, the stt^rery rocks wWdi 
liardN*ed its ibadb, the verdant and <6W. 
ering^Bosses, Ae blade cadie, the whke 
flheep, the sh^^erds under the fiiv, will 
never leave my memory, and make me 
wish not to die vrithout seeing Taribet 
again. I shall ofiten think of Tarbet even 
in the mi^t xjS beautiful Italy, wkh its 
.^range-tsees, myrtles, laurds, and jessa^- 
mines.^ I also hope not to die without 
havii^ seen Taribet again, but I am 
g»atly obliged to the aotftedty of a phi^ 

G 4 



1S8 TABBET. 

loflopher for Having saved me the trou- 
ble of a fresh effort of enthusiasm, the 
expression of which I repeat too often. 
The opinion of a romantic mineralo- 
gist is by no means a feeble buckler 
against the prejudices to which I am ex- 
posed. I have also, like him, the pleasure 
to pay my tribute of praise to the kind at« 
tentions of hospitality, so uncommon in an. 
inn, so agreeable at all times in a desert ; 
for the reader must not persuade himself^ 
from the inspection of some maps, that 
Dunbartonshire, for example, is peopled 
like one of our departments. Most of the 
spots marked in the itineraries should only 
be considered as resting-places. They are 
commonly uninhabited ruins, which one 
enters without exeiting any other attention 
than that of the swallows who fly away at 
the sight of you. Some of these huts have 
even totally disappeared. What is more, 
Tarbet and Arroquhar, which are like 
another Tyre and another Sidon on these 



TAHBET. 129 

^ores, conidst merely of two or three houses^ 
grouped round an inn* In fact, they 
are called Tarbet inn, Arroquhar inn; and 
truly they are nothing else, for there is no 
reason for setting up a greater establish- 
ment, or for a greater increase of popula- 
tion in a country equally deprived of the 
resources of agricvdture and of manufEic*- 
tures, where the winter is almost intolera- 
ble, the autumn stormy and cold, the spring 
unknown, summer rare, and only lasting 
two months in the best years. All this 
does not prevent the inn at Tarbet from 
being one of the best in Eiu-ope, and where 
the delicate attentions of benevolence and 
politeness cost the least money. For my 
part, I have travelled many thousand 
leagues ia France, Germany, Italy, Eng- 
land, without finding one to be preferred 
to it, even in the most frequented roads 
and in the most opulent provinces. The 
prosperity it enjoya is owing to the small 
relative value of the first objects of con<^ 
G 5 



190 TAKBET. 

ttunptjon, and to the oonoourfle of trayel- 
lers ; that is to say the English, a nation 
eas^itiaMy curious about its local ndieflf} 
aj^redating them with taste, and improv- 
ing them with judgment, and who, if 
they possessed th^n, would change our 
fine situaticms into elysiums, and our 
ruinn into mines of gold. 



1«1 



CHAPTER XXIII. 



NATDRAU PRODDCTlONSi 

The paaftft of the cmmties of Argyfe 
«nd of I>u«fca«toA wimk I traversed, b^ 
hkig t& ^e ittM-H9ekkliis grotiiKb 6f M;. 
Bou^, in his Ge^logiedl Eimy <m StoOcMi i 
a»id it niust btt^ beea ftoflft analogoufl quar^ 
ries thfvfe diemnteriitieof the nhkakig houise# 
0f EiSubutgh hme been eK^(jmct(Nl> In 
Ae UsrtMy of the conquest i^Mexi^ tbeM 
kiAefitioiiof a smdQ town built of m(^ 
gUMring sMid that the comfNuiions ol 
Gbftez thonght, at a distance, it was* befits 
ci#«ihr«r( bu« they Were not minenllo^s^ 
and it wouM be tash to ^uppbs^ t!iat if 
ira«^ contititieted of mtea-sdiistus:. B^lr-^ 
06 



132 KATU&AL F&0DUCTION8. 

ever that may be, this iUuskm is often re- 
peated on the banks of Loch Lomond^ 
and particularFy at the picturesque cape 
of Firkin, remarkable for <the nature 
and phy^ognomy of the rocks which de- 
scend towards the shore They are great 
masses of wavy schistus, the scales of 
which, of a pearly whiteness, resemble 
at a distance the foam of the waters a^- 
tated by the wind and whitened by the 
breakers on the coast. One might think 
they were waves caught and petrified at 
die moment they were falling into the 
water of the lake, and whose eternal im* 
mobility contrasts with the ceaseless agi-* 
tation of those which die away at their 
feet. It appears from the measurements 
of the exact and learned geologist, whom 
I named at the beginning of this para- 
graph, that I^och Lomond and Loch Eath- 
rine are the deepest in Scotland^ an ob- 
servation which may explain the dark 
opacity of their habitual colour. The 



NATUBAL PftOBUCTIONS. 183 

former is 600 feet deep near Tarbet, and 
the latter 480 through ahnost its whole 
extent. 

One of the motives which had determine 
ed me to circumscribe my solitude was the 
desire to ascertain, with some degree of 
care, the natural productions of the moun- 
tains of Scotland, having strongly taken it 
into my head that they must be more mark* 
ed, and, if I may be allowed the expres* 
sion, more specially local than they are in 
reality. The gediogy alone has this dis- 
tinctive character which I had hoped to 
find in the other categories, and it is pre- 
cisely that wluch I understand the least. 
As to plants, I was directed by the excel- 
lent Flora Scotica of the amiable and pro- 
found Dr. Hooker, as well as by his coun- 
sels, and by the admirable instinct of his 
usual guide, a lively, active, ingenious, pe- 
netrating old man, as these mountaineers 
generally are; and who nevet failed to find 
for me any plant which had exited in the 



194 XATrSAL PftODUCTIOIii. 

learned prafeflKxr a aentknetit of nnrpk 
pleasnee, of sui^rise, enthimam^ or rap- 
ture ; and then figured his senations by ex-- 
daiit«ti(His or gestures, wfaidi never de- 
cayed me a inngle time as to the import- 
aHce of the cUscovery. I co&tented my* 
self with coUeetiag the i^eies which stmdi 
me the most frcmi the novelty of their as- 
pect; happy to add some to the rkh ci^ 
lection whh which Dr. Hooker had charged 
me fiv Bory de Saint- Vincent, and eertam 
of reedvii^ from the li^tnf dear and brii,^ 
Hant sodoQs, whidi would pix^ong, for a 
lei^tk of time, the charm <^ my explof»* 
tions and the jdeMure of my joutney. I 
write tliese pages almost und^ his eyensy 
m which nothing absoiotriy belo^s to m^ 
but iIk advaotage of having seen raysdf 
as I ran along, in a country litUe kaowtt, 
wliat I could only describe frem otbei»Sb 

Thme who are not in the habit of ibm 
hand of inves^ation, are i^otig in suj^M^a;. 
mg that very o^poMte climates dtifl^ es-^ 



VATUXAL PItOD0£TIONS« 135 

amtiallj in all' their Tegelable produc- 
tioDS. The hi^ mcointaiiis of hot covin.- 
tries often pcesent to the observer the same 
pbnts as the most northern regions of the 
globe. The ta^aveller who has just pcked 
at tl^ir foot the thick teloutier of a silver 
c^ur, the milky scevola, the mango tnee^ 
whose branches dipping into the sea get 
loaded with oysters like bunches of grapes, 
is astonished to change his tone as he mes^ 
above the level of the ocean, and to see 
succeed each other the more humble plants 
n^ch grow under the equator, and even 
the austere plants of Scotland or Lapland* 
Tlius on the wild sides of the Cobbler or 
of B^ Lomond, Bory would have found 
agaui, with me, the purjde tubercles of tl»' 
eopal4ike Beomffees^ which webdkoMsfaiii^ 
iilg on the heaths of southern Euix^ie, and 
irtiich he had jneked even ^i the devatod* 
tlttets 1^ the isde Bourbon. Figispe to yeur^ 
sdf the lengthened eone ct a champaign^ 
glass, reduced to the ftiypoxtiom of an ele- 



136 VATUSAL FRODUCTIONS^ 

gant miniature, nused a few lines above 
the v^yet green of the ccnnmon mosses,, 
and crowning its fresh verdure with a little 
diadem of rubies, you wiU have an image- 
of this, ornament of Alpine solitudes. 

Rounded tufts of a brownish green an-^ 
nounced to me further off the hymeno^ 
phj^um of Tunbridge*, first discovered in. 
England, and disserved since on different 
points, of our mountains, where it is ex». 
tremely rare, and again discovered by Bo- 
ry in that same isle Bourbon which was ao 
fertile in discoveries for him. It is re- 
markable for a peculiar aspect, which ac» 
counts for its Greek name. Its transpa^ 
rent leaves have none of the compact ver- 
dure or succulent consistence of vegetables;, 
they are, in fact, membranoua leaves ^ which 
have rather the appearance of certain silky 
tissues ; tot providence, which, according 
to the terms of Sqripture, has clothed the 
lily with a more shining robe than that oC 
^ Hpmn^yQnvi Tunlnidgeiiie, 



XATUftAL PB0DDCTI0K8 187 

kings, has refused neither silk n(»r coral to 
the meanest of its subjects* 

Another cryptogamous species, veiy wor- 
thy of attention, is the BorrerafavicanSf 
which Mr. Lightfoot, author of a Flora of 
Scotland, and predecessor of Dr. Ho(^er, 
had already found on Ben Lomond, but 
which he mistook for a known plant by re- 
ferring it to the lichen vu^nua of Linnaeus. 
Neither Bory nor I ever found it in a state 
of fiructification, though our eyes have been 
often attracted, in diflEerent countri^ by 
its elegant little cushions, intermixed with 
filaments of the finest yellow colour, which 
form a ^gular and striking contrast with 
the sombre tone and monotonous ground 
of the sdusti, gneiss, and basaltes. 

It is cTjrptogamy which supplies almost 
all the ornament of mountains to a certain 
height On the multitude oi mosses which 
supply the place of the short and slender 
points of the turf, creeps that hfcopodium^ 
the poUen of which is better known for 



I8S nujsaMAJU TMos)vcjjmt8* 

funui^iiig fladies of fightniag U the Ope^ 
ra, than as the smylwoi of some pre^ v^ 
cUpph^lgi sought aftor hy theeotimiah^t. 
Who would thiak that the last as wdl as 
die^rst of our iheatricid «xhihitions wcNiid 
for^ iolo their scnriee eves^ the miaeraUe 
erj^U^gWBoua plants of the wotic itsgiaas^ 
w^ that a part of the reveime of naitbem 
Sii^K]^ should be feuaded^ui tibe tatcfaes 
of our furias JOid the igM» faim ^ otMt 
qna^iieB! C^flhenelodttmc^b^psrtin^lHK, 
k fxiBf b» mid that its light Gomaa Se^tik 
Ih0 iVNrdii;; a gre^ ^ds^tect cf medilailiair 
1^ qMUButs^e pbiloaQphers ai^ poUtkift 
fo^BomstsI 

As Iaift«otwntiag.a|amnal of naliir 
rai history^ I j»uat s^gm beg paedsm of 
the reader tevihe innpidky of this forjced 
iM3ii)mclattice» and for auBMkioiitBg nothing 
but mosses in a oountry of whith the db' 
Yi^ed pcuats psoduee hardtf any dmig 
jelae. Aottoi^lhoee which Dr. Hooker ob^ 
served^aad i^Aacbhe nMsnlioits in imixm^ 



liiieciafa}^ Toluine, I reeogmaBd with tb# 
0iO9t l^Iy pleasure, vrbxeh porsoos unac- 
custxmod to this kind of pursuit cannot un* 
deratiindy the Bryum turbinaium^ wbxmt 
Uitle urns are haliuiced on very long pe- 
dimcles ; the Weiasia aada whidi lieaps it- 
lelf up on fragments of rocks ; the Splach^ 
mmm mnMde$^ obaiged with fiueh regular 
botllei, mbdA &e Encdk/piui sttftptoem y u i ^ 
adxMie oonio liood i«eals 4;o'inkMi the point» 
9i Q&f o£ max i mmj m B , mt AM'msii^wniHil 
dkstined.toput outf li^it, wkb ^lAiA^om^ 
ptaioiO|Ji«rs» rnone «klight«&ed periMqps 
tinn modest, fimn^ndjr 4eo*niitod owt ig- 
nonnoe^. 

The cold and naked healths of Seotknd^ 
like those of oth^ northern regions, ate 
covered by the lidien of the rein-deer ; but 
nature, which has been prodigal in this 
country of the food of the valuable ser* 
vant of the Laplanders, has not placed 

* This most was long canfounded with the Bryum cm* 
Hitciofwfiu 



140 VATUftAI. PRaBUCTIOKS* 

there the animid which feeds upon it. No 
great quadruped animates by ite^ presence 
the solitudes of Caledonia, unless it be 
some wandering deer, which must also be 
scarce. Scarcely does a fierce mewing in* 
dicate, from time to time, the wild cat ; and 
I did not hear it : and among the birds, 
hardly does a long whistling, or a short 
and frequent, cry, like the screanung note 
of the wild-goose^ indicate the retreat of the 
ptarmigan, a sort of moor-fowl or tetraoj fri- 
.mous among the mountaineers, which liyes 
above the hunud domain of the heron, and 
below that of the eagle, in the low, sombre, 
sweet verdure of the herbaceous shrubs, 
or the airborescent herbs of the mountain, 
in th^midstof the Vaastnium mt/rtiUuayyfiih 
black sweet berries, which I have so often 
stripped of their jet-black globules in the 
pine-forests of Camiola and Cipatia ; of the 
V. oaycoccosj whose shining cherry invites 
the black cock from a distance ; of the Ericd 
dabocday whose purplish flowers bang in 



KATUEAL PBODUCTIOKS. 141 

little balls frem its stalks The andromeda^ 
fastened to the rock like the virgin from 
whom it receives its name, the sweet-gale 
and seme heaths tower above the dismal 
pyrola with four leaves, and above the little 
GenUiaAnglicayVrhose slender twigs, armed 
with pricks turned back, catch the wool of 
the wandering sheep, which, tn its turn, 
strips them of their golden flowers. 

My entomological researches were infi- 
nitely less fruitful than I had promised 
myself. Though we had got to the be- 
^nning of July, a tolerably advanced pe- 
riod of the season even for Scotland, and 
the weather was as favourable as could be 
wished, few insects had yet trusted to the 
mild promises of the temperature ; or ra- 
ther, the constitution of this cold and hu- 
mid atmosphere never allows more than a 
very small nimiber of species to go through 
their metamorphoses, and to arrive at the 
last term of their changes. The most 
scrupulous attention, joined to great prac- 



142 KATtTKAL PBODDCTIO^'S. 

tice, did not bring to my notice in the 
mountains of Scotland, mare than two or 
three npecie^ of tinea oAdp^aUa comnnm 
enou^, and half a secure of chilly coUep- 
terUi who kept themselyes hid under the 
itones, or covered with thick layers like a 
winter garment. Even these belonged at 
most all to the family of the Carabidcty 
which I suspect is very rich in this coun-^ 
try seldom explored, for it presented to 
me, among other very rare species, four 
cntirdy new; for one of which I am in* 
debted to the kindness of Dr. Hooker, and 
which I feel a pleasant duty in dedicating 
to him ♦. 

I hasten to get out of these details, with 

which I was not so long engaged on Ben* 

' Lomond as I have been in writing them. 

The most lively taste for some particular 

studies, of which one has contracted a ha- 

* Casabvs HookBrj. Aflteif ccrte C AwonUen- 
Ut sed duplo minor. Apterus, eljtris suJcatis viridibus, 
liaeMdevioigeiteoiiy^pMxtriflteiNidt. N* 



XAT0RAL 1PB0DUCTI0NS. 14S 

bit and a want, t^nnot however balance 
long the strongest emotions which it has 
been given to the heart of man to experi- 
ence ; and how find place for a mania when 
one yields to the power of a sentiment 
which contains all sentiments together? 
Here there is not a faculty of the soul un- 
occupied, not one that is not enlarged, and 
which does not receive the certain revela* 
tion of all the strengdi it has left. One 
must give up a man, whom chance having 
placed on the top of a high mountain be* 
tween the sky and tiie abysses, should not 
discover in himsdf the soul of a man. The 
fur of the mountains is too generous for 
common organizations. Reptiles cannot 
lire in it. 



144 



CHAPTER XXIV. 



BEN LOMOKD. 



On my arrival at the foot of Ben Lo« 
mondy the east began to glitter with all the 
splendour of the morning. I left Loch 
Lomond at my feet, and rose in the midst 
of a long ^dle of mountains diversely 
illuminated. To the west, and at a little 
distance (m the grey ground of the hori- 
zon, was strongly drawn a grotesque »de- 
view of the Cobbler ^ so called perhaps be- 
cause the two rocks which surmount it have 
an imperfect resemblance to a man bent 
down, and half leaning on a stand. The 
allusion is quite in the genius of a people 
who figure all their ideas, and paint all 



BEN LOMOND. 14f5 

natural objects by comparisons and images. 
The Cobbkr is also called Ben-Arthur^ the 
name of a giant of the fabulous ages who 
probably loved to repose on the tops of 
mountains on a throne of basalt. I have 
already mentioned one of these singular 
natural monuments in the environs of 
Edinburgh. 

In proportion as I advanced vertically, 
the action of the sun and the direction of 
the air gave to the mists of the lake a mul- 
titude of figures and positions, which 
changed the view at every moment. Some- 
times the summit alone of the mountains 
was disengaged from the white vapours of 
the morning, and seemed to float like a 
black vessel on all the clouds of earth and 
heaven. The heteroclite rocks of the 
Cobbkr f suspended over this ocean of mists 
which come dripping on the undefined sur- 
face I was going over, resembled two 
shoals against which the foundering ves-' 
sels seemed ready to break. A moment 

H 



146 BEN LOMOND. 

after, all reappeared. The mountuas 
stripped themselves to their feet of their 
humid dresses ; and the waters were seen 
rocking themselves gently against the 
banks as they rolled along those light 
flakes of transparent vapours whidi, in 
softness and colour, imitated the fleece of 
lambs, and the eider-down of birds, and 
which the Caledonians, with a picturesque 
truth that belongs only to them, designate 
by the name of the white plumes of the 
lake. But the sun gains strengdi. His 
rays, less horizontal, strike the ground 
which they only skimmed. The shadows 
retire, and the mists, driven Uke light dust 
imder the wheels of his car, fly off so lig^t 
and fugitive that they do not even darken 
the nearest objects, which you can always 
distinguish as through a transparent gauze. 
Only fen: a moment, when the curtain 
tliickens at a greater distance, and becomes 
again as before, vast, humid, obscure, im- 
penetrable, it closes on every nde around 



BEN LOMOND. 147 

the mountain, and envelopes the spot you 
occupy Uke the waves which menaced man 
on the last summit which the deluge had 
not invaded. Does a new ray shine forth, 
the curtain unfolds again, the sky is Ught- 
ed up, creation qprings out of another 
chaos, and is regoaerated before your eyes 
full of grandeur and beauty. You behold 
again the mountains, the lake of the sky, 
while your eye follows on scmie distant 
summit the fantastic appearance of a cloud 
which dissolves away under the form of a 
reclining giant, or a fine stag mortally 
wounded. 

The excursion to Ben Lomond is at- 
tended with no sort of danger for those 
who do not seek for it, and who have not 
the imprudence to try a usdess peril by 
walking on the narrow crest of a rock from 
which the eye measures a precipice of 300 
or 400 feet. It has even very few diffi- 
culties, and what renders it more commo- 
dious is, that the ground is carpeted al- 
h2 



148 »EN LOMONH. 

most in every part with a sort of fair mos» 
extremely thick, of a gentle elasticity, and 
which does not offend the foot any more 
than the most delicate carpet. The only 
very steep path on the mountain is that 
which leads from about three-fourths of 
its elevation to the summit. This upper 
height, which is distinguished from a great 
distance by its form and colour, and which 
resembles another mountain placed on the 
first, is entirely despoiled of verdure. It 
is to this peculiarity that Ben Lomond, as 
I have already said, owes its Gaelic name. 
When one has reached the top, one feels a 
very sharp cold, which would not be with- 
out, inconvenience after a fatiguing walk, if 
one ceased too suddenly to keep up the 
perspiration by moderate exercise, and did 
not take the precaution to seek shelter fnMn 
the current of air at the foot of a rude py- 
ramid which the mountaineers have erect- 
ed probably with this view. When one 
has had time to get over the confusion of 



BEN LOMOND. 140 

the first impression, and can give an ac- 
count to oneself of what one sees and feels, 
one is transported at once with the idea 
that we are called to enjoy one of the most 
striking sights in nature : but I do not 
suppose that any man would think of re- 
presenting the scene displayed before . his 
eyes with words or colours : that is above 
the power of man. All that one sees, how- 
ever, is only lakes, islands and mountains, 
most of them very inferior in height to 
Ben Lomond, and which creep at his feet 
like a herd of black cattle; the horizon 
has not a plain, not a field which announ- 
ces the hand of man, not a roof which pro- 
claims his habitation ♦. The few that ex- 



* I speak of the day when I was on Ben Lomond. 
I saw distinctly enough the rock of Dunbartou, the 
banks of the Clyde, and the sea. 1 saw stiH more dis- 
tinctly many lakes, among others Loch Kathrine and 
Loch Monteith ; many mountains, the most clear and 
remarkable of which were Ben Arthur^ Ben Voirlich, and 
Ben Nevit* The touritUi or writers of travels, assert 
that one may also see the Paps of Jura, and even Edin- 
burgh Castle, and the coasts of Ireland. It is probable 
h3 



150 BEN LOMOND. 

*ist apart from each other disappear under 
thick clumps of trees, or are lost from 
their smallness among the details which 
the eye cannot reach. One can easily con- 
ceive how delightful it must be for a tra.- 
veller who has reached the elevated point 
of one of our mountains on the Continent, 
to contemplate a space which has no limits 
but the sky, and which unfolds before his 
eyes all the riches of nature, all the won- 
ders of civilization ; lovely fields, opident 
towns, canals covered with boats, hills 
clothed with plantations. But what one 
cannot ccmceive without having seen it, is 
the solemn and terrible in the aspect of a 
desert, where nothing exists but by virtue 
of the creation ; where no power, no will 



that these subUme decorations are reserved for days ex- 
tremely dear, which cannot be common in Scotland. It 
it necessary for me to observe, by the bye, that many of 
these Gaelic names are no strangers to the andeut lan- 
guage of oiir Celts ? 1 was bom between two moun- 
tains, one of which is caUed Jura, and the other Lo- 
mond. 



BEN LOMOND. 151 

has modified the works of the power and 
the will of God ; where all the productions 
of his hand preserve without alteration the 
stamp imprinted upon them in the first 
days of the world; where nothing has 
changed, absolutely nothing, since the day 
when the Lord separated the earth from 
the waters, placed islands in lakes, lakes 
among mountains, moimtains in other 
lakes, and the entire earth like an immense 
island in the midst of the ocean. This 
sentiment, added to the material impres- 
sion of the local beauties, entirely changes 
their effect. One supports, without notic- 
ing it, and even with a sort of pleasure, 
the conviction of a ,limited solitude, and a 
voluntary insulation; but when one has 
climbed towards the heavens, a «pace 
which may be estimated at the perpendi- 
cular height of half a mile; when one 
has beheld the ray of the horizon extend 
on every side till it is at length lost in an 
unknown line in which the last mountains 
H 4 



162 BEN LOMONI>. 

and the first clouds are confounded ; when 
one has called on this vast desert for man, 
and solitude only has answered, the 
astounded soul falls back on herself, and 
feds the want of collecting all her strength 
agidnst the overwhelming power of nature. 
She has here an awful character which 
surmounts all the cowardly melancholies 
of the heart, and when, from the midst of 
these solitudes, one recals to mind society 
with its interests, its friendships, its insti- 
tutions, its grandeurs, its mighty names, 
one sees nothing but a caricature in the 
eternal order. I pointed out Loch Kath> 
rine to my guide, and we descended ra- 
pidly among the mountains, which raised 
successively around us their vast cupolas, 
and closed in, at every step which we took 
towards the base of Ben Lomond, the 
space more and more Umited between the 
sky and the earth. 



isa 



CHAPTER XXV. 



FROM BEN LOMOND TO LOCH KATHRINfi. 

As it is not the custom to go directly 
from Ben Lomond to Loch Kathrine, with- 
out returning to Inversnaid or Tarbet, we 
were obliged to trace a road for ourselves, 
by cutting across the country as the bird 
flies, oyer hills horribly wild, and tlu-ough 
wet and cold glens, ploughed up at every 
step by frightful ravines, where the foot, 
badly supported on. a black moveable soil, 
entirely composed of vegetable remains, 
becomes imprisoned wherever it is neces- 
sary to bear hard on an elastic earth, which 
for a long time preserves th« impression. 
These dismal spots have only a sombre and 
H 5 



154 FROM BEN LOMOND 

monotonous vegetation, interrupted here 
and there by large crevices, from which 
sport rills of not very limpid water, which 
flows slowly in a bed some fathoms in 
length, and then loses itself in another hole 
where it continues its subterraneous course. 
It was on the bank of such a brook that 
we took our evening meal, a very simple 
repast, as may be imagined. It was at 
the expense of its naiads that we quench- 
ed our thirst, but not without mixing in 
our drink some drops of that oaten spi- 
rit which the inhabitants call whisky, 
and which has the advantage of giving 
to the most suspicious water, a taste agree- 
able enough, and a salubrious quality. 
No where in Europe did I ever find my- 
self in a more disordered region*, or which 
bore a more visible impression of some 
great natural catastrophe. My guide made 
me understand, in his way, that all this 
part of the shores of Loch Lomond bad 

• Une eontrie plus bouleversie* 



TO LOCH KATHRINE. 155 

been tortured by frequent earthquakes, 
the last of which was pretty recent. Eager 
to approach my object, eager perhaps to 
get away from the sinister aspects of these 
nameless deserts, I took advantage of the 
long glimmering of the crepuscular light 
to get over the greatest space possible, be- 
fore dark came on entirely ; and I walked, 
or rather fled, attended by the screams of 
a great white bird, whose solitary covey I 
had probably disturbed, and which pur^ 
sued me for five or six miles with its fright- 
ful cries, like those of a sick child. At 
length a milder spot, a more open glen, a 
rude but clean soil, enchanted by the mur- 
mur of gentle breezes and of birch trees, 
but above all, the ravishing, though per- 
haps deceitful charm of the Ossianic cosmo- 
graphy, retained me on the banks of the 
lake and among the heaths of Cona. There, 
enveloped in my cloak, my Scotch plaid 
rolled round my head, I passed the two or 
three hours of a night peopled with poeti- 
n6n 



156 LOCH KATHRINE. 

cal chimeras. At the point of day I got 
out of these mountains, whence a very 
steep but easier descent, and of a much 
more agreeable cast than the fatiguing 
road I had traversed the preceding eve, 
conducted me to Loch Kathrine, the most 
melancholy and most inspiring of the lakes 
of Scotland. The charming descriptions 
of a delicious poem, by Sir Walter Scott, 
the Lady of the Laice^ were taken from 
its banks. 



157 



CHAPTER XXVI. 



LOCH KATHBINE. 

The boatwoman of Loch Kathrine> 
when you come by the side of Inversnaid, 
is known to travellers. She was in a small 
field when we arrived, but she flew before 
us up to her stone-cot, in order to offer us 
some delicious milk, and oat cakes of un- 
leavened dough, dry, pale, friable, which 
have a look of earth whitened by the sun, 
and perhaps the taste of it, but to which 
one can easily accustom oneself, and espe- 
cially when one is hungry. It is observ- 
able, moreover, that the natural food of 
the people is every where the wholesomest 
aliment, and that of which one gets the 



158 LOCH KATHRINE. 

least tired. While I was relishing the milk 
of Caledonia on the border of the cold lake 
of the dark rocks, (which is the meaning 
of its Gaelic name. Loch Keidiuerrin,) I 
considered, with an astonishment which I 
still expe]:ience, the dress of the daughter 
of the waves and mountains. I beg the 
reader to excuse this romantic pathos in a 
country where it is almost indigenous. In 
fact, nothing has ever surprised me more 
among half civilized nations, than the ex- 
. tremely anticipated refin^oaait of thw fa- 
shions and manners. I beUeve that the 
love of the toilet has been given, especial- 
ly to women, in order that the tmnsitions 
from the primitive state, to what we caU 
highly-civilized, might be less sennUe. 
They are the first to taste the fruit of the 
tree of knowledge, and to teach man tp 
hide the shame of his nakedness which has 
bec(Hiie culpable only ^ce it has ceased to 
be ingenuous and conformable to his na- 
ture. AU travellers know that it is in the 



LOCH KATHBINE. J 59 

best frequented countries, and the most 
out of the way, that the women are found 
to have the most singular refinements in 
dress. Ambition and coquetry are still 
more intense among savages than with us, 
and if not essentially more active, they are 
at least more open and more ingenuous. 
After all there is nothing particular in the 
costume of the Caledonian women, and 
this is precisely. what one would not expect. 
There are traditions of fashions which fly 
from one woman to another with all the 
rapidity of the electric spark. Only all 
these imitations are in extremes, and it is 
impossible it should be otherwise. A sure 
taste is the sure index of complete perfec* 
tion. Ignorance and clumsiness betray 
themselves in caricature. The young wo- 
men of the mountains of Scotland are, in 
general, remarkably clean, when compared 
with our peasants. There is a charm in 
the arrangement of their hair, and an ease 
and grace in their manner of holding their 



160, LOCH KATHRIKE. 

head. Thrir short petticoat, commonly 
of a deep colour, shows off the whiteness 
of their legs, which are admirably shaped, 
though large and vigorous. They have 
the beauty of strength, but there is some- 
thing which astonishes and hurts the ima*< 
gination in th^ toilet, which recals to> 
mind too forcibly certain negligees, . and. 
certain graces infinitely less innocents 
When I saw the Morlachian girls, I 
thought that, with their tinsel, thek coun- 
ters, and their shreds of all colours, they, 
had a striking resemblance to the Jigitr- 
rantes of a provincial opera, when behind 
the scenes. I dare not say what most of 
the young Caledonian women are like, and 
in truth they think little about it. 

The boatwoman of Loch Eathrine is 
called Mannah, and must be about twen- 
ty. Her Uvely, animated, and very pleas- 
ing countenance, is not remarkable for its 
style, which resembles the Tartar or Cau- 
casian type. Her complexion, ochred by 



LOCH KATHBINE. 161 

the sun^ indicates, perhaps, an ancient mix- 
ture of the blood of the Gipsies so much 
diffused through these regions. Her eye 
is full of poetry, but it is a fugitive 
sentiment which changes every moment, 
and almost turns into derision the rapidity 
of impressions which it communicates. 
She is delighted, astonished, afflicted, 
asleep. She plunges into the water to set 
a boat afloat, and takes a leap into it of 
ten feet from the shore, and comes tum- 
bling on her knees. She runs from one 
end of it to the other, sits down, makes 
the oars play, and sings. She is always 
in a humour to be gay, always ready to be 
melancholy. If a man looks at her, she 
gives a long stroke with the oars, lets them 
go, dips her hands in the water, washes 
her face and neck, rolls up with vehe- 
mence her long tresses of black hair round 
her three-toothed comb, lets them fall in 
graceful ringlets, and begins again to row 
and to sing, watching continually to the 



162 LOCH KATHBINE. 

right and left for an echo that may catch 
and answer I^r voice. 

While the boat went on, I asked Han- 
nah for a song in the ancient Gaehc, and 
by the help of pantomine, of circumibcu- 
tions, and a mixture of English, Celtic, 
and Sclavonian, which resemble nothing, 
but, for all I know, might resemble Gae- 
lic, I got her to understand me, but with- 
out gaining much by it. All I can say is, 
that she sung with wild enthusiasm, a 
very lamentable episode, probably taken 
tram an ancient epic poem, and which, 
from her extravagant declamation, and the 
picturesque harmony of the dialect, full 
of aspirations and shouts, screaming and 
roaring Uke a storm, had a most singular 
character. With what profound dissatis- 
faction at myself did I then regret so many 
years lost in dissipation and idleness, when 
the study of a few months would have suf- 
ficed to procure for me at that moment 
one of the most powerful impressions in 



LOCH KATHRINE. 163 

life. I should have heard a Gaelic song in 
its primitive beauty, and I beard nothing 
but sounds which brought no distinct idea 
to my mind. It is possible on the other 
hand that my ignorance may have added 
something to the illusion of my sensaticHis, 
and that my imagination lent to the recital 
of Mannah more brilliant colours than the 
reality. At all events, I had already at- 
tained the principal object of my researdi ; 
and ever since my arrival in Scotland, I 
had no longer any doubt that this country 
had preserved traditional songs of the he- 
roic kind. The acquisition of this idea 
was as important to me as it was novel, 
far I had brought from France a most 
profound conviction that the Ossian of 
Macpherson was nothing else but the hap- 
piest and most magnificent of all literary 
frauds ; and my wretched vanity itself was 
much interested in this error, which I had 
set off in a pretty specious way in a pamph- 
let now forgot. Now I was about to leave 



164 LOCH KATURIKE. 

Caledonia not less convinced that Mac- 
pherson really collected traditional poems 
very widely spread, and if be has some- 
times enriched them in his translation with 
lively and brilliant colours of his own, he 
has at least very little changed their cha- 
racter. In fact, it is of very little conse- 
quence whether the Ossian of Macpherson, 
or rather the numerous Gaelic poems 
which the rhapsodists of the mountains 
attribute to that celebrated bard, by a syn- 
thesis or aggregation of persons common 
to all primitive literature, as is the case 
with Lockman, Esop, and Homer ; it is 
of very little consequence, I say, whether 
this poet has come down to us in all his 
originaUty, or whether the genius of a mo- 
dem poet has appropriated his composi- 
tions to himself, by adorning them with 
new beauties. What is very interesting 
and very agreeable in my opinion, is to 
ascertain the positive existence of that aw- 
ful and severe mytholpgy, of those heroic 



LOCH KATHRINE. 165 

and warlike histories of ancient times, of 
those certainly measured songs which ap- 
pear very figurative and very pompous, 
and which have been preserved in the me- 
mory of men for fifteen centuries. This 
nominal memory is even so lively and so 
precise, that one could not conceive what 
can stimulate it from generation to genera- 
tion, if traditional songs did not exist. It 
is surprising, no doubt, that these songs 
have traversed such a length of years ; but 
it would perhaps be more surprising that 
they should fcave been lost in a nation en- 
raptured with its recoUections, which it 
connects with all objects, all events, all na- 
tural scenes, and in a tongue which has 
the privilege, so rare among all known 
languages, of having subsisted from time 
immemorial without any modifications. 
One can hardly go a mile in the moun- 
tains of Scotland, without finding t)ne of 
Ossian'^s halls, one of Fingal's caves, a 
trace of their passage, or the place of 



166 LOCH KATHRIDfi. 

their graves. In short, the very indis> 
tinctness whidi surrounds the cradle of 
this extraordinary literature, gives an 
additional charm to its effects. I do not 
know if every one would experience 
the same, but as for me, I never felt 
more perfectly the religious power of poe- 
tical names than under the firs of Balva, 
or at the aspect of the indistinct pmnt, 
which my guide showed with his finger 
from the top <^ the mountains of Argyie, 
when he said,— There is Morven ! 

I must escape from the danger of at- 
tempting a detailed description of Loch 
Kathrine. It has called forth pencils too 
skilful, muses too highly favoiu*ed, to per- 
mit me to expose myself .to a comparison 
which might frighten even a poet. I 
diall merely observe, that the invincible 
sentiment of melancholy with which it 
penetrates the heart, is the result probably 
of the contrast between the gloomy colour 
of its waters with thdbr so regular and pen- 



LOCH KATHRINE. 16T 

mre swell, and the grace and smiling beau- 
ty of its shores. One might think it was 
an Acheron watering an Elyrium. The 
ground is eternally covered with a sombre 
turf, very glossy, the general tone of whidi 
has something silky ; but what forms the 
finest ornament of this rich down, is a 
multitude of plants or dwarf shrubs of the 
brightest green, which look like embroi- 
dery on beautiful compartments, and whose 
aspect produces the sensation of a magni- 
ficent carpet of raised velvet, wrought in 
gold, and struck by a ray of the sun. 

These charming borders change their 
aspect entirely towards the extremity of 
the lake which approaches the defile of the 
Trosachs on the side of Stirling. It is 
the region of rocks and precipices an- 
nounced by the Gaelic name of Loch- 
Eathrine. Here the dark waves die away 
at the foot of dark rocks, some of which 
are SOO feet perpendicular. Some have so 
solemn and so frightful a character, that 



168 LOCH KATHUINE. 

the mountaineer, astonished at his fears, 
cannot look on them without horror, and 
excuses his timidity by relating in an 
affecting tone the tragical histories which, 
according to custom, these formidable 
masses recal to mind. Mannah made me 
understand that one of them was the dwell- 
ing of the Genius of the storms of the lake, 
and that for this reason it was called in 
English the rock and den of the ghost. 
She related, that not far from it there was 
in the time of her grandfather a savage 
and implacable band of ruffians, who 
massacred travellers without mercy, and 
spreading over the vallits every now and 
then, carried off the flocks, set fire to 
the houses, and desolated all the country. 
The caves which served for their asylum 
are still called the den qfthejerocious men. 
Animosities fcHuented on purpose, or kept 
up by some national superstitions, always 
cause these atrocities, which besides, are 
almost unknown among the Scotch, to 



LOCH KATHBINE. 169 

their maritime and continental neighbours. 
The Southrons or Sassenachsy are almost 
in as bad repute at this day in Lennox as 
in the time of Wallace. A privilege of re- 
collection is always a protection there to the 
French, and Mannah made me understand 
this feeling in a manner equally ingenious 
and affecting: gaUiqttey (gaelick^) she said, 
resting her hand on my shoulder; gaU 
Itque^ she repeated, placing it on her heart. 
This idea of a primitive parentage, ex- 
plained by a name, touched me even to 
t^ars. 

Adieu, said I, with a sigh, beautiful 
lake of the dark rocks ! acMeu, Mannah, 
whom I might as well have called Moma, 
did I not wish to be faithful to truth ! 
Let us quit the striking hills of Perth- 
shire, where my friends are wandering 
perhaps only a few miles off. Let us cast 
a farewell look towards the deep valley of 
Olentivar, a last look on those poetical re- 
^ons which will recal to the latest poste- 
I 



170 LOCH KATHEIKE. 

rity the enchanting recfdlectiicm of Helen 
Douglas ; and turn the jh'ow of thy lig^t 
boat to the side of the mountain wd lakes 
of Lennox. Mannab, I b^ your pardon, 
but I i^n .impatient to go after other names 
and other sentiments on diores whose 
echoes have never repeated the measured 
sound of your oars. 

The day was getting late. I walked a 
long while before I found myself again in 
Cond's sUeni vale* The sky was calm 
and pure, the shades of Oscar and Malvi- 
na were absent, and I could hardly dis- 
tinguish the roaring stream^ the dull roar- 
ing of the waters of the lake. 



171 



CHAPTER XXVII. 



THE GYPSIES. 

^H£ nights in the mountains of Spot« 
land have a peculiar character of solainnily , 
which I thought J had guessed, but w^iich 
cannot be entirely apiH*eciated till one has 
enjoyed by oneself thej^ solitude and si- 
lence. Since the time that the sun had 
sunk to the horizon of the vaUie^i, almost 
all the isounds which amiounee life had 
ceased. The last bird which I had seen 
was a heron^ whic^ descendedon an island 
of the lake-^ after that> Iihad caught no 
other sound but the whispering of a fresh 
breeze, which glided through the long 
grass of the bank Only towards mid- 
iS 



172 THE 6YP8IB8. 

night I heard the branches of a fir creak 
under the weight of a powerful animal, 
whose vigorous wmgs beat through the 
foliage and the air. It was a great owl, 
traversing the an*, and holding in his beak 
either a snake or an eel, which soiled its folds 
round the robust claws of its antagonist, 
and struck them with its tail as with a flail. 
The desert was visible, and this inunensi- 
ty of earth and water, on which reposed 
the polar light, but which, at the same 
time, was totally destitute of motion and 
life, appeared to me more austere than the 
darkness itself. I {penetrated on purpose 
into the thickest part of the forest, along 
a path but little trod, which announced, 
however, the passage of man, aad I felt 
myself seized on a sudden with a mixture 
of fear and curiosity. Who could have 
formed this mysterious way, so far from 
every habitation and from every resort of the 
ordinary industry of man? Abscnrbed in this 
anxiety, I could not hear without emotion 



THE GYPSIES. 173 

the echo of my steps, and I tried to re- 
peat them exactly in order, to be certain 
that it was really tlieir noise which I heard. 
From time to time there was a motion in 
the lake like a splash of water, and I tried 
to conjecture whether it proceeded from 
the leaping of some large fish, or the beat 
of a fisherman^s oar who had been casting his 
nets. After having walked for two hours, 
with the idea that it was difficult and im- 
probable that any other man should be 
breathing the air of the same mountain, 
I perceived, at the turn of a hollow way, 
a distant light, and advanced towards it 
with some degree of eagerness, as the cold 
had become very piercing. On my ap- 
proach towards the Scythian hearth, on 
which were crackling some holly leaves, 
with a black smoke, I saw three men lying 
down, who hardly raised their heads to re- 
connoitre me, and some women squatted 
near them holding children in their arms. 
One of them, after having looked at me 
iS 



174 THE GYPSIES. 

with surprise, drew out of a bag of rags, 
made with pieces of every cdour, a little 
flask, in which there remained some drops 
of whisky, which die made me drink, 
while she declaimed with vehemence some 
phrases, of which I understood no more 
than <^ the songs of Mannah. At last, 
after havii^ rested myself a little, and dis- 
tributed among the women and children 
all the chai^ I had about me, together 
with two or three hundred j^s that I had 
brought with me for my insects, and whidi 
had excited a lively deinre among my wild 
hostesses, I set off again at sunrise, with- 
out having obtained the smallest agn of 
attention from the chiefs of the tribe, asad 
very agreeably surprised at this indiffer- 
ence. After I had walked about ten mi^ 
nutes, reflecting on this episode of my 
journey, and on the consequences it might 
have had, I turned round towards the 
brow of the hill I had just quitted, which 
b^an to be tinged by the orange-coloui*- 



THE GYPSIES. 175 

ed vapours of the east. Precisely at the 
point of the rock was a man motionless, 
leaning on a long forked stick. A little 
below me some more of these adventurers 
were fastening a boat to the shore. I was 
near Arroquhar, the ancient residence of 
the Macfarlanes,' and I had just escaped 
from a bivouac of gypsey smugglers. 



I 4 



176 



CHAPTER XXVIII. 



LOCH LONG, 

Loch Long, and several other lakes of 
this part of Scotland, are merely long 
gulfs, extremely narrow, and filled by 
the sea, and which contain no other plants, 
shells, $xxd animals, but what are proper 
to that element. I walked for a long 
time on its borders, examining through 
the limpid and transparent wave, as clear 
as the purest crystal, the innumerable^ci 
which cover the fresh arena of its bed ; a 
vegetation rich and varied in form and 
colour, which seems to be to the nymphs of 
the waters a substitute for the soft shades 
of the earth. The most common and most 



LOCH LONG. T77 

singular of its inhabitants are little blue 
fishes, which play and follow each other 
among the floating foliage of the marine 
plants, and reflect from their dorsal scales, 
when struck by the sun, the shades of an 
incomparable azure ; for it would be do- 
ing them an injustice to compare their bril- 
liant sparks to tlie pale light of sapphires. 
I thought, as I admired their superb 
dress, of a lake in the Arabian Tales, 
where similar fish were caught, but I had 
never seen them any where else. I confess 
L am much distressed to know with, what 
colour the able illuminators of Bloch would 
have expressed these. I afterwards lost 
myself among the green hills, called the 
Bowling-Green of Argyle, seeking with 
little success insects on the earth, and poe- 
tical inspiraticms in the clouds, but deliri- 
ous with joy to find again in my heart all 
the charm, and all the power of its first 
illunons, and to be able to enjoy them on 

the borders of the lakes of Fingal, and ai 
i5 



178 IrOCH LOKG. 

the gates of his palaces ; £<» h^e certainly 
it was that Fingal ragned, here flourished 
the heroic soldiery of the demigods of Os- 
Man. These ideas absorbed me to sach a de- 
gree that I felt a secret pleasure in wander- 
ing from the dwellings of man, and turning 
from the roads he had traced, in order to 
avoid trivial distractions, and to withdraw 
myself from the habits of the prosaic life of 
the vulgar. I could imagine at least among 
these austere rocks, on the border of these 
precipices whose ai^)ect freezes the blood, 
in these dismal solitudes where nothing at- 
tracts the traveller; I could imagine, I 
say, that no voice had resounded but my 
own since the songs of Selma have ceased. 
It was aAj at the junction of Loch Long 
and Loch Goyle, that I resumed the road 
which was to bring me to the borders of 
the latter, and to those of Loch Fyne, 
the breadth of which was all that jeparat- 
ed me from Inverary ; but what was In- 
verary and its gothic castle, its fishermen 



LOCH LONG. 179 

and boatmen to me ? Not only this : not 
only did I fear to descend from my sensa- 
tions, but I should have feared to exchange 
them for other sensations of equal inter- 
est and equal grandeur ; I strove to keep 
them up ; I saw more danger than plea- 
siu*e in multiplying them. I might have 
imprinted my steps on the strand of all the 
lakes in Scotlimd, and on the summit of 
all its mountains, without the least addi- 
tion to the immenaty of my recollections ; 
and I should have exposed my sdf perhaps 
aft^ all to overload my miemory or pall 
my heart. I was like a man who assists at 
a seductive jday, and who goes off hetore 
the curtain drcqf>s, for fear oi losing the 
Ulusion of the repiesentation. 

I selected among the mountaineers who 
offered their services, the one whose pic- 
turesque costume and marked physiogno- 
my, seemed the best calculated to keep up 
the impressions of the preceding days, and 
I passed in his boat from Loch Goyle to 
I 6 



180 LOCH LOKS. 

Loch Long, contemplating the miraculous 
effects of the light in the sublime decora- 
tion of the surrounding mountains, whose 
blue masses now like a clear sky, now in- 
undated with transparent reflexions of 
pearly whiteness, or glittering like polish- 
ed gold, embrace the whole horizon with 
the most magnificent drapery with which 
the Creator has enriched the scenery of na- 
ture. Having got from Portincaple in 
front of the pretty house of Roseneath, I 
provided myself with a less frail bark, and 
ascended, for eight hours, the ravishing 
stream of the beautiful Clyde, the Sca- 
mander and Permessus of the Gaelic my- 
thology. Others may notice on its banks 
the little pcnl of Gourock in front of He- 
lensburg, and further on, the charming 
town of Greenock, one of the ornaments 
of Benfirewshire. For me I saw nothing 
but Baiclutha and its rock, and I arrived 
^X Robroystcm, more overpowered by the 



LOCtt LONG. 181 

weight of so many emotions than by watch- 
ing and fatigue. 

Robroystoa owes its name and present 
celebrity to that chief of the Macgregors 
to whom the people gave the surname of 
Robert the Red, (Rob Roy) on account 
of the colour of his hair, and whom the 
Scotch, in order to give an idea of the 
length of his monstrous arms, call the man 
who tied his garters without stooping, 
Robroyston is the Lumloch of the ancient 
historians. It was in this celebrated vil- 
lage that Wallace was arrested % and the 
enormous beams which that hero tore away 
from the doors and walls, in order to de- 
fend himself against the treacherous sol- 
diers who surprised him in his sleep, are 
still shewn. No man of the present gene- 
ration can lift them. Wallace, after all, 
was only a hero of liberty, and, in a na- 
tion which is growing corrupt from day to 
day, his reputation has already sunk be- 
fore that of a smuggler. 






182- 
CHAPTER XXIX. 



AYE. 



My pilgrimage to Lumloch removed 
iQQ/pnly a few tniles from Glasgow, where 
I was joined the next day by my friends, 
whom I found transported with the recol- 
lections of a journey still more hurried, 
but much more extensive and more varied 
than mine. While I was wandering to- 
wards the western coast, that too exdudve 
object of my curiosity, they had embarked 
on the Frith of Forth, traversed Inver-i^ 
k^thing, visited the historicEtl shores ci 
Loch Leven, and its islluid, whose sectary 
castle witnessed the unjust captivity of 



ATIU 188 

Mary Stuart. They stopped at Perth, so 
celebrated in the history of Scotland, shud- 
dered at Scoon before the castle of Mac- 
beth, and recognized, further on, the mov^ 
ing wood of Bimam, and gave a passing 
salute to the tomb of Ossian, or rather to 
the monument of a forgotten religion which 
poetry has decorated with that name. From 
Dunkeld and Blair-Athol, they went to 
admire the falls of Bruar, whose pictu- 
resque name itself calls to mind the roar- 
ing of cascades. They saw the chain of 
the Grampians unfold beneath their eyes, 
left behind them the walls of Eillin, and 
the castle of Taymouth, took views as they 
wandered along the rich and varied bor- 
ders of Loch Tay and Loch Earn ; sought 
in the vale of Balquhidder for the birth-place 
of Macgregor, and in the rude defiles of 
the Trosachs, the route of the knight of 
Snowdon ; nor did they fall into the trace 
of my modest itinerary till they readied 



184 AYR. 

the borders of Loch Eathrine where I had 
ended *. 

We had hardly met again when we set 
oflF afresh to traverse the county of Ayr, 
which we passed over very rapidly, though 
this province is far from being the least cu- 
rious and the least picturesque in Scot- 
land. We were destined to experience 
some of those rude changes of weather so 
frequent in this climate, which the fine 
days we had so lately enjoyed did not at 
all lead us to suspect. Confiding in our 
good fortune, which, with the exception of 
some pretty sharp cold, had saved us all 
the disasters of a long journey, we had 
decided, contrary to the signs of the hea- 
vens, and the advice of our last landlords, 
to go over other mountains. We had even 

* The excelknt memoirs which Mr. Taylor had the 
kindness to send to me on this excursion, being much too 
ezteosire to be inserted in this place, and possessing, 
moreover, a peculiar charm, extremely interesting, I 
have solicited, and obtuned his kind permission to make 
a sepsxate poblicatioii of them. 



AYR. 185 

got, without any inconvenience, to the little 
town of Kilmarnock, where tlie market-day 
had drawn together an incredible number 
of pretty women from all the neighbour- 
hood, remarkable for the contrast, though 
every day less new to us, of the finery of 
their elegant costume and their naked feet, 
whicK boldly brave the rough sand of the 
roads. Ayrshire, besides, is the part of 
Scotl^id where the people iq>peared to us 
the most faithfal to the national dress, and 
the most tasteful in the manner of wearing 
it. The men, women and children, rival 
each other in the drapery of their broad 
plaids, without any well fixed rule, it would 
seem, but in a way to charm the eye of an 
artist, and excite the emulation even of a 
Parisian belle. This observation struck 
me particularly at Sanquhar. I am con- 
vinced the most able of our landscape 
painters could never dress his peasants 
with more grace, though he should give 
himself up entirely to his imagination. I 



186 Aira. 

have 9een groups, which, taken as they 
were, would not disgrace a jncture of 
Poussin. The women, especially, take 
great advantage of this mode of seduotion, 
which they might well do without, for' they 
are charming. 

From day-break, the sky had been dull 
mid stormy. Nature seemed restless.. 
That pretty littie bird with a yellow head, 
like the flowers of the ranunculus and the 
broom, among which it loves to dq>, and 
which is ^[ititled in the country the hcp^ 
cktver^ was jumping with fr^t from 
branch to branch ; great sea-birds bewild- 
ered, followed each other with screams over 
the forests. All the shades of the fere- 
fathers drew their long-trained garments 
as they ran fi*om mountain to mountain,, 
and crowded together confusedly at a pc»nt 
of the sky ; an immense dose band, above 
which one could scarcely distinguish the 
supercilious front of some aged seers with 
their bald beards, and the eagle-winged 



AYE. 187 

helmets of a few warriors. This magnifi- 
cent areopagus of bards and heroes wds 
not long in dissolving upon us in a cold 
penetrating rain, mixed with hail, and ac- 
companied by all the rumours of the storm 
repeated by all the echos. Though we 
had taken no precaution against this event, 
yet it had very little influence on the im- 
pressions we c^me in search of, and we tra- 
versed the parish of Mauchlin with enthu- 
mstic exclamations on the picturesque and 
wild ipots displayed every moment by the 
^^^^eties in the course of a romantic river. 
Above its steep and menacing sides, whose 
summits are decorated with the most deli^ 
cious landscapes, the eye discovers here 
and there flourishing habitations, or ma- 
jestic ruins. 

Not far from this rise the towers of 
Queensberry-house, the Holy-Rood of soli-^ 
tudes ; and the ruins of a castle of Tibe- 
rius, less known to the inhabitants of this 
part as a precious remnant of an ancient 



188 AYE. 

Roman habitation, than as having serv- 
ed as an asylum for Wallace: but one 
must have gone over Scotland to form an 
idea of all the sentiments attached to the 
name of Wallace in the memory of the 
people. He is to this nation one of those 
heroical personages, whose proportions are 
all presented to the mind on a gigantic 
scale,, like that of the demigods of Homer. 
Every body can teU you that a king of 
Scotland, travelling over hb kii^dom an 
hundred and twenty-five years afj^r the 
death of Wallace, and inquiring eagerly 
for any memorials of that hero from aged 
persons who might have received them 
from immediate tradition, was informed 
that death had spared till then a lady who 
had herself known him, and knew many 
particulars of him. The king set off im- 
mediately for the antique castle of the ve- 
nerable lady, and requested an interview 
with her. She came forth before the mo- 
narch, leaning on a white staff, and pre- 



AYR. 189 

ceded by a hundred and twenty ladies in 
two ranks, all in mourning. They were her 
daughters, grand-daughters, and daugh- 
ters-in-law, down to the lastr generation 
which had sprung from her marriage, and 
who, after their widowhood, had returned to 
the parental roof. Several were a hundred 
years old. The king, introduced by this 
parade of centuries into one of die old halls 
of the castle, would not «it down till the 
parent of these respectable matrons was 
seated in front of him ; he then sat down 
in the wojm-eaten chair that had been of- 
ten occupied by Robert Bruce. The 
lady, after having expatiated in clear and 
easy language on the noble quahties of 
that {Nrmee, and especially on his elevated 
stature, higher by the head than all his 
subjects, like the Tumus of Virgil, added, 
that the arm of Sir Robert was so potent 
that he might have confidently defied the 
ten most valorous champions in Scotland ; 
but the king having asked how far Sir 



190 AYE. 

^WilUam Wallace was comparable to his 
fnend, die aoiswered that he was a whde 
head taller, and that ten champons like 
Robert Bruce would have fallen before 
Wallace. It is remarkable that thi^ reci- 
tal, which to m j mind is full as solemn as 
if it Delated to Hercules, is at least found-' 
ed in probability on the prodigious exam- 
ples of loDgCTity at all times in Scotland. 
In the collections ccmsecrated to this spe« 
cies of jdienomena, two men are cited who 
might have known each other, and who 
embraced between them,, as ocular witness- 
es, the history of the eyents of 300 years. 
Thus, in this marvellous country, there 
appear in th^ turns, and at every mo- 
ment,, all the species of renown wluch ima- 
ginatkm or truth have bequeathed to the 
reqpect of futurity. Not ccmtent with 
having given a new, extraordinary, su-- 
Uime mythdo^ to the genius of the lyri- 
cal epop»a, in the immortal songs of the 
Caledcmian poeti and chivalric names to 
1 



AYE. 191 

the magical muse of Ariosto, Scotland 
-does iK>t make all ita gbry rest oa tradi- 
tions, whidi the severity of criticism too 
ofte9 assimilates with fables. The very 
perac»ages of her positive history, in its 
leaat h3rp^bolical pages, hove something 
religious and grand, like the majestic figure 
of Fingal ; something grave and mysteri- 
ous, like the obscure ages of Fergus and 
Duncan ; some supernatural impressure of 
fairy enchantment, like the high deeds of 
ArgaiL Such is Wallace ; such are some 
other Scottish chiefs, whose memory is so- 
lemnly kept up, and their vestiges revered 
with a sort of worship. Though the ex- 
ploits of these fierce defenders of the in- 
dependence and of the institutions of Scot- 
land, have frequently made the glory of 
England turn pale, still England has the 
poUtic generosity to respect in their me- 
mory courage and virtue. No one in all 
Gre^it Britain would ever think of com- 
paring the famous Highland chiefs with 



192 AYR. 

ruffians or highway robbers. Happy pri- 
vilege of those conquests which maintain 
themselves by their own strength, and 
which, in order to consolidate the power of 
a family, have no need to make stipula- 
tions at the expense of honour and truth ! 



193 



CHAPTER XXX. 



GBSTNA GREEN. 

A TRAVELLER must not IcRve this vil- 
lage, ffltuated at the extreme frontier of 
Scotland, on the line which separates it 
from Cumberland, and a few leagues from 
Dumfries, (poor Jenny Deans, may the 
earth lie light upon thee !) he must not 
go off, I say, without giving a look at that 
little white house, so simple in its struc- 
ture, so inidgnificant from its situation, 
and its purely local recollections, but which 
draws, notwithstanding, such a numerous 
concourse of elegant visits, and seems to be 
the vestibule of those magical gardens of 
the poet where all the amorous' couples in 

X 



194 6SETKA GREEK. 

the world flocked from every dde. This 
comparison b not so far-fetched as many 
others, to which I am sometimes borne 
along, I know not by what connexion of 
ideas, which exists perhaps only in my ima- 
gination. In fact, Gfetea Green enjoys 
the strange privilege of serving as an asy- 
Imn to clandestine, amours,, axid of conse- 
crating all those marriages which, in Eng- 
land, would be ocmtraiy tothedecorumsof 
society, to famUy arrangements^ and to pa*- 
temal authority. If two persons, free from 
othttr ties, are agreed, notlnng cmi hinder 
them.^:«m fcmmng^ that ot xoaxriage, as 
soon-as Ihey have tou^ied tins promised 
Ifmd oC lovers* Two f/es^s, firedy pro- 
nounced, ore suffil^ent to reduce to nothing^ 
all legal oppoatkm^ allr^ftonstranees, and 
alas! all duties^ The formalities >dF tlns^ 
Gcmtract ar^ easy^ siijqf^, «id very expe^ 
diliouB. It is a Macksimtb, cn*atobacco- 
mst of the village, who performs thecere- 
mony, on the first demand of the parties. 



GAStKA OEEfiK. 195 

and who, without* itiqpiiryi^ without' rites, 
without sotenmft^ of aiiy kidd^ fixes, 
without witneBseS) without a clerk, without 
authority, by a writing wliieh- has uo fix*, 
ed f(»mul% without a legal" seal^ and with- 
out orthograp^, the iB&dsohible union of 
two adventurenr wtiose- 6ttfgwiw% then as 
saeredin the eye ot the lawei» if it had 
prescribed th« £D^nns^ dictated the explres^- 
sions^ and sanctioned the contents; This 
strange^ not to say extra?vagant custom, is 
undoubtedly i^ery reprehensiblein the eyes 
of moredi^ ; but, like many of our Ticidtt^ 
custDms^t it is a homage to morality itself; 
A Gretna Green marriage presupposes a 
profound respect fo!rits institutions, which 
is not to be found among nations where 
the power of the religiofUs and social insti- 
tution is w<im away ^ a point of view in 
whidi> as in many others', Tery civilised 
nations Jiave a singular ^resemblance tcT baf . 
bftrians^ An unhappy youhg womari who 
goes oflF ta Grfetna<Jreen^ Wrar^ the most 
xS 



196 GRETNA GK^K. 

sacred of all human powers, that of her fa- 
ther ; but, by a fiction, which has its e£Pect, 
she complies with the most important of all 
social conventions; a furtive frcmi her fa- 
mily without being so altogether from so- 
ciety. If she withdraws herself from a se^ 
vere yoke which suffers no disobedience, 
she pass^ at least, under the light yoke 
of a complaisant institution, which ^ves an 
appearance of legality to disobedience it- 
self ; and I really think that the fa:ther of 
a young lady who had taken this step, would 
do much better not to try to overtake her; 
still happy if the criminal dereliction of 
the child who has deceived his affection is 
not attended with m6re fatal consequences 
to her honour and happiness ! 

I left Gretiia-Grieen with a charming 
young woman, beautiful as love, sorrowful 
as melancholy, who had just passed a fort- 
night in the village, and had passed it all 
alone. I was told that she had been wait- 
ing for somebody, who never came. 



197 



CHAPTER XXX. 



F&OH CUMBERLAND TO LONDOK. 

To vast plains of peat, whose dismal mo- 
notony is only varied for a moment by the 
Solway Firth, succeed, at last, more smil- 
ing fields, as one approaches the old walls 
of CarUsle. This historical town is re- 
markable, however, for nothing but the an- 
tiquity of its castle, and of its cathedral, 
an edifice analogous in its style to that of 
Glasgow, but which appears, from the form 
of s<»ne of its windows, to belong to a more 
remote epoch, and which, from the red 
tone of its brick-coloured stones, has a very 
different physiognomy. I shall say no- 
thing of the feudal ruins with which the 
k8 



198 FROM CUHBE&LAKD TO LONDOK. 

neighbouring hills are covered, and which, 
everywhere, recal to mind the long and 
bloody wars between England and Scot- 
land, nor of the Cumberland lakes, so re- 
nowned for ihejidmess <tf their aspects, 
and the variety of poetic scenes on their 
shores, nor of thefiMOious remains of the 
Great Roman Wall ; nor of the verdant 
pastures of Westmoreland, norof themag- 
Jiifiomit^paidcftaiidiiioompttradUe^iionefi of 
^oikfihine, nor of the ddigh^l vkvs of 
Iimtohwhire ior NobtiB^amehire, nor 4xf 
AheJosBliagihDniEyof^ifiddlftseT* I hard* 
ly.tQokrAiovelamejaii.iiqr cetuxa, to^jMBs 
ihMMgh those t^fferent oauBftieatliaii ^vmnld 
be neoessary to nuriL^sothjaiJitde exact- 
sess diw poeitiQii cm d» joiap^ Bot eibave 
forty luMiTB ttt.mofit. 13ius/ 1 passed an a 
few days, and afanisfit withomt any^lsaasi- 
tion but that of deep, fcoui one of the ex* 
treme points of civ^iiisatioQ to the mo6t4qp- 
ponte point; from adesert to London; and 
firom the domains of imagination and li- 



FROM CUMBEEtAKD TO LONDON. 199 

berty, to those of industry and money. In 
vain might I expect to hear, on waking in 
the morning, the noise of the shepherd^s 
horn, calling in different directions on the 
echo of luB rocks, or tfaenatdonal air which 
the old mountaineer tunes on his bagpipe, 
as in the days of his youth, which it recals 
to his mind, with its energy and its hopes. 
The lakes no longer wxtve around me. The 
summit of the mountains is effaced) and 
^*w^eiMUati r§^gmSi'i^ itmmtam. The 
dlmd«iia^iiBt«b«h4)^0€iry^ «iidthe wo- 
iMW U lwii Ji i i W B i win Mardiy^aay ^IW^ %ut 
^mimm. ^Am^^ij^fplm^'aie "iiymphs on. 
fy onl^ bOrd^s^f kdces, iryaA^ only in 
iSaehmoim^ WMAs/ hhd Inuses only on 
4be suttta^ 0f bilk. 



x4 



80Q 



CHAPTER XXXII. 



CANTEBBUBT. 

It commoiily happens that our aenaa^ 
tionsy wl^en multiplied, diminiHh in inte* 
rest and viracity. I began to experienee 
that lasdtude which results fix>m a long 
exertion of the faculties of the heart and 
of the mind, and I was not sony to latve 
behind me Cambridge, Salisbury, aad 
Windsor, as a motive for another visit to 
England. I was not even much disposed 
to stop at Canterbury, which I only know 
by English engravings, always flattering, 
though this in reality proceeds only fix>m 
an admirable perfection in their execution. 



CAKTEBBUBT. 201 

I saw Canterbury; and Canterbury is 
worthy of a journey to England. 

Nothing so magmfic^t, nothing so di- 
vine as this cathedral. Divine is the pro- 
per word. Grod is there. It seems to me 
that the different styles of architecture bear 
the stamp of religious sects. I am not in- 
ttderant ; I love to think that the spirit of 
God is everywhere; but the poverty of 
imagination in the reformed religions is^ 
jHtiable, when compared with those won- 
ders which^ at least, it has had the good 
sense to f»*e8erve. They deserve credit 
for this homage to the piety of ancient 
times. There is here a long tradition of 
respect for the religion which, they have 
abandoned. They show the akar where 
Saint Thomas of Canterbury was assas- 
sinated. It is the same altar, the same 
marbles, the same pavement A worn 
j^ne. preserves the trace of the knees of 
pilgrims^ 

k5 



908 CAWTEHBUBy. 

It is not ^th words, nor fcardly with 
figures and eriours, that one eouid give 
an idea of thesribtime^effset 6t this church 
of three ages, in which is'di^ikyed ail the 
genius of the three st jles of the intermedi- 
ate ardbitecture, the -Saxon, die middle 
with its broken -arch, imd the ogee or 
pointed arch, down to the reviral of the 
fine arts. The spirit of preservation which 
prevails in England is caniedto such a 
point of reli^us scrujde, that the small- 
est sacrifice of detail has not been permit- 
ted, even for the effect (tf general harmo- 
ny. * 'iAdl ancient WT>rk that eouM be {)re- 
^ served has been respeetfiilly saved in the 
work of themodems. These peofle did 
not demolish temples to get lead. n%ey 
made cdtumns fN^ ca|ntals, emi bmldings 
for a door. It ia-sfertmge to say, but it is 
true, that the secriet of thdor potitioal socie- 
ty, holds by thesame princi^^e^ «Eid will be 
m^tained by the wonderful art with 
which they have identified ancient institu- 



CAKTXBBUST. SOS 

tidns widi new ones* Natixms build no- 
thing i»w. 

I flhatt not describe Canterbury. I 
have not the pretension to conduct the 
leader, already fiitigued with following me, 
aeroes that Vast nave, those chapdid full of 
elegance, ihom subterraneous vaults, those 
tombs, the overwhelmii^ s^timent of 
which escapes from the feeUe aj^roxima- 
iions of qpeech. I shatt only stop at the 
msnamlent of the Blai^k Prince, whose 
image, sdU interesting even for those who 
loteto'lanoy the ideal grandeur of a hero, 
is placed 'ill the attitude' of p^yer, by the 
side of a heavy sword, which you may 
grasp imi ii^aise, if nature has giren you 
silffioieDt «lf«ligth. .^ incredible efl^t is 
the result ctf tiik attempt, which 1 find it 
very diflScult to express. You cannot «on- 
«eive how^the whole powi^r df ybur life is 
isb fbeble by the 4iii^ of death, aaid by 
Jwfattt>pr«C^4he dust df this'tdttlb^ould 
ftef'WiihiiiW^d^o^^^hidl ]^tt «te%ardly 



S04 CANTKABimr. 

move. Neverthdess^ the sword of the 
Black Prince is here the only thing that 
has preserved its form without alteration. 
The war-horse at the funeral of a warrior^ 
is an affecting sight; but this sword of 
battle, moveable by the side of a man in 
bronze, immortal near a corpse, and which 
will remain by him for ages aa if he had 
just put it down— this I think sublime. 
Have I guessed, my dear Augustus, what 
would have struck you most in Canter*- 
bury cathedral ? 

Above the tomb of the Black Prince is 
suspended the armour which he wore at 
his last battle, and another sword, rusted 
by time. It is without a scabbard. It if 
there as in the hand of that valiant knight^ 
an emUem of courage which was never at 
rest 

All the environs of the church {^reserve 
some parts of the ancient abbey, and its 
numerous buildings. They are grand, 
aithivolts, groups of lofty pillars, friezest 



CANTEKBITBT. 905 

ornaments that remain fixed in walls more 
or less modem. Among these fine remains 
is an admirable tower in the Saxon style, 
round which run two enormous toruses of 
the ridiest work, and not far off a little 
staircase, the effect of which is enchant* 
ing. The environs of the church are co- 
vered with superb plots of verdure, and 
shaded with magmficent lime-trees, whose 
venerable heads complete the harmony of 
this grand picture. The imagination loves 
to place the secrets of the sanctuary in the 
shelter of forests, and it was on this ac- 
count that they were held sacred amongst 
the ancients. A churdi nev^r strikes the 
mind with a more profound sentiment of 
devotion than when it is surrounded with 
trees ; and if gothic architecture has a cha- 
racter more eminently religious than clas- 
sical architecture, as nobody can doubt, it 
is perliaps because the elevation of its 
spires, th^ acute angle of its arches, which 
represents the point of imion of two braa- 



S06 CAMTXftlirVT. 

dies croMutg^eAdi: other, the Toluine and 
tema of its eohimns, pressed toged^r like 
ncaghbouiin^ stemi^ which, in die perspec- 
tiTe, are ^aonfaonikd together, (the gloomy 
oD^ness of its Taidts, and die soft murmur 
gI its ochos, i«cal to laind the gmndeur 
and aolitude of woods. Howenper this may 
be, the finest taste has prended ahnost 
every where over this kind of- mbd- 
Kshnwnt Itisf obserred in igenevai, that 
the inspired} dieeoimtor of the ^environs of 
temples' has oontnMted^thepbaitatioiw with 
the hoildings in> .the most ingeikms^iiiaa-. 
aer. The light pyramids of the. gothic 
andiiteeture, and ks* angular pMfile^' aHe 
aknosi ^always ^opposed to aoneentisted 
masses of (trees, widi ; great ^^beandies, 
crowned with n^sortofrdametof.fQikige, 
amdi as the harseMdieamt, and fthe 'dime- 
Iree; the pokitedfminaDelsiofjuAisi&appear 
tobe>b<Mnieron.thehoriBoiitalia]ans (^ ce- 
darn, or to ^qarii^from Ao ^radiafchiy& ont 
of ,pahBs« The ;cupolaa (of 'jBradi 4mhi* 



CANTEEBUBY. 207 

lecture, and the circular temple which they 
cover, are, on the contrary, rounded off 
among groves of pines and poplars, which 
lose their- J^eads in the clouds. The men 
of those days of simplicity, who created 
these harmonies^ were not probably aware 
of such effects ; but Aey are very natural, 
very consonant ; and I would advise artists 
not to depart from. them. 

I shall mention a colossal fragment of 
the ruisi^of St. A^gustinV monastery— ^ 
s^QttUipient of a^ ^ues^, ,and of .JSkgood 
^tfUy the last V9stiges of which ^j^fipeai 
fwiy t(9 pmsh— pflddrely to x^et that no 
more oare is tak«a of its preservation than 
if it were iniBnmce. 



soa 



CHAPTER XXXiri. 



FRANCS. 



I cast a last look on ShaKespeare^s cliff, 
so admirably described in King Lear, of 
which one of the excellent ccnnraentators on 
the English Eschylus says, that he never 
transported himself in unagination to the 
brink of the precipice without feeling, as 
he measured its frightful deptb, a degree 
of ^ddiness. The coasts of Albion be- 
gin to be confounded with the clouds, and 
I lose sight of that land, on the two ^extre- 
mities of which genius has stamped two 
impressions equally interesting: the ad- 
mirable poetry of Osdian on the black 



FEAKCC. S09 

rocks of Morven, the ac^poirable poetry of 
Shakespeare on the white cliffs of Dover. 

France I France ! my native land ! a 
sight more beautiful, more lovely to the 
heart of the traveller than.all the wonders 
of a foreign country ! Here the first sound 
that strikes my ear will bring an intelligi- 
ble idea, and a familiar word to my mind. 
Here the first look that will' witness my 
arrival, will be that of a countryman, 
perhaps of a friend. Two days at most 
separate me from you whom Z love ( The 
abysses cf , the sea no longer separate me 
.from you, and the marvellous secret of 
navigation might be lost, without my loft- 
ing any part of my happiness. Thanks 
to the waves which have brought me back 
to the shorec of France; they have no other 
kindness to do me ; and no vessel from a 
distance will come loaded with the hopes 
of my fortune, or the treasure of my af- 
fections, — it is here. 

Now this dream of fifty days is termi- 



Dated, and, like die t^uildings of a^town 
one has (pitted the pieoeding evenmg, ^and 
^hkdi one looks atfjMn the tops «f a hill 
at a conriderable distance, I see ^onfilsed 
together aQ die dbjocts ^hidn occtqmd 
my *new 4tirin^ that period. The ^laost 
lively seoiations ^ those 'day%%»ftilliof 
«e# ideas, fade fcom my ttteB rt r y . ^(^o 
ean ^ die pftiMhtg Jfii]*r^l«ionB «f -^«? 

he in^thMeof ainan-tMihvtMvdsi^MMly 
inr tbe^nndte of imreilHigv w iii N hn ^ ' 
wnoaAear^oafoggettlwKt te iaiOivB^ i 
fils, "vsthoHt taaiy design, diepages«f a 
useless memcHial nith seflecdotts widiout 
any object ? Neverdieless, the effect of tins 
jonrnal abruptly sketched, in pasang firom 
m post dudse to a boat, would not be en* 
tirdy lost, if it jhould ini^ire a man bet- 
ter orgaaiaed^ and more capable of tam- 
ing his ittdoieooe to the advantage of 
others, with a taste for travelling to make 
^baervatioia in oomitries very neary and 



FEAIQCE. 211 

SO little known to us. The only object of 
my ambition would be complete, if he ac-* 
knowledged himself obliged to me for 
having pointed out, in the great British 
Isle, some subjects worthy of curiosity, 
of surprise, of admiration — Oxford, Can- 
terbury, Durham, York, Alnwick, Edin- 
burgh — Dunbarton Castle, Loch Kath- 
rine, Ben Lomond — and Miss KeUy. 



TfiB KND. 



Printed by Balfour & Clarke, 
Edinburgh, 1833. 



YA 02745 



■7Px-^F^ 



PA 



THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA UBRARY